Amoeba
by Mail Jeevus
Summary: Mello's moods were so...fickle. Matt's mind was joking with him that living with Mello was dangerous, like rooming with Kira himself. MelloxMatt; COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Amoeba

**Pairing: **MelloxMatt

**Rating: **T

**Summary: **Mello's moods were so…fickle. Matt's mind was joking with him that living with Mello was dangerous, like rooming with Kira himself. [MelloxMatt [Multi-chaptered

**Notes:** This is a roleplay between dearest Mahri and me, formatted to look like a fanfiction. It is quite long, so if you're not into long-term reading, then I suggest you look elsewhere. However, the updates will be frequent and the story compelling.

**ichi.**

This was a common picture: the apartment somewhat tidy—somewhat being that laptops, wires, power boxes, and a plethora of different electronic parts lying strewn around with everything else neatly put away. The couch pushed against the wall, the coffee table in the corner, the kitchen looked untouched, and Matt was lying on the couch with his laptop precariously perched on his chest. One hand idly operated the keyboard, and the other dangled off the couch like a useless limb. Truly, Matt was just bored.

It showed, too. His hair was disheveled, his clothes twisted around his body, and his goggles were pushed up on top of his head. His vest lay discarded over the edge of the couch. The fact that he remained half-dressed and appeared to be lost in perpetual tedium was a good sign that Matt was not in a very pleasant mood.

Of course, this was a common picture.

Matt had been like this for days—quieter than ordinary, uninterested in too much but doing whatever the hell Mello wanted him to do for this excursion after Kira, lazing around, hardly touching the video games that once consumed a good portion of his life. You'd think that he'd be happy to hear from Mello again, or that he'd be happy to get some excitement in his life—and honestly, he was. 'Was' being the operative word here. Mello proved to be a real damper on his occasion. A real rain on his parade, that was what Mello was.

Quite frankly, Matt wished that Mello would just get out of his damn apartment already.

Mello had never noticed Matt's steady decline in mood until about a week later, when the smoker became unenthusiastic and a little bit disgruntled. And so, the blonde found himself in and out of the apartment more often than not, gathering things and using his reputation to get information. He even set up a plan to meet Near, having his gun still intact and his vendetta to keep in mind. Still, he couldn't do much on his own, no matter how much his ego begrudged him. He had to come back every night, exhausted, only to earn little to no response from Matt, other than the nod or shrug when orders were made.

Not that Mello cared all too much. He was used to giving orders, and then having them followed without question. Matt, on the other hand, was a different story. He was an old friend, dating all the way back to Wammy's House. It was almost uncomfortable ordering a friend around, not that he'd ever admit this. No, he'd just let the guilt weather away the recesses of his mind until he no longer cared. Just as he did after the shocking revelation of L's death.

Today, however, he wasn't in the mood to put up with any shit. He just wanted to lay out the agenda and have the other shrug in his customary way and pull out a cigarette before having Mello point his gun at the younger one with a snarl and say: "Put that out."

He strode in through the door, wearing leather pants that constricted nearly every place on his lower body. It had cost him hundreds of dollars, but he had preserved the money from when his standing in the mafia still invoked a tremor of fear. Now that his hideout was ash and his entire group had been killed by the police, he had almost no money to his name besides what he managed to scrounge up. And apparently, Matt had some money.

Mello raised an eyebrow at the other's lounging form, crossing the room to lean over him diffidently.

"Hey," he said, baiting the other's attention. "Matt."

Matt looked up at Mello, blinking expectantly as though to say, 'hello, may I help you?' Guaranteed, if Matt was on speaking terms with Mello presently, he would say something to that effect. He wanted to make it obvious enough that the blonde could figure that he was really pissing Matt off.

Of course, this was granted if Mello ever stopped thinking about Near and Kira long enough to think about his best friend.

Matt glanced back to his screen and paused his game of pinball, shifting his laptop aside so that he could lean against the corner of the couch. Presently, he arched up his hips to pull out a rather crumpled cigarette box, pulling one out and placing it between his lips. When he finally spoke, he spoke around the unlit cigarette. "Yes?"

Mello wrinkled his nose.

"You better not light that in here," he reminded him, backing off in satisfaction to receive at least a monosyllabic response. He picked up the laptop and exited the game Matt was playing, only to shift the screen to a loading setting, trying to bring up any files he had stored about Kira.

"Weren't you supposed to be watching the news with this? What if Kira did something, and Near got the information first?" He scowled. His tone sounded accusatory, but it was far from that. He was merely irritated. A sigh escaped his lips as the blonde abandoned the laptop in favor of striding to the other side of the room.

He was rather pissed at Matt himself, to be honest, seeing as the gamer had taken a childish approach to all this. He was ignoring him, quite blatantly if he did say so himself, always coaxing a troubled frown from Mello's dangerously placid face. He drove him crazy, honestly... but he couldn't do this without him.

As painful as that was to admit.

Matt felt like today was a good day to thoroughly piss Mello off.

He lit his cigarette.

The redhead jerked in protest to Mello's exiting his game, scowling. Fuck him. Matt leaned off the couch and groped for one of his many laptops, dragging it over to him by the cord and opening a few windows, spinning it around for Mello to see. "Asshole," he said, for there, on the screen, were numerous electronic news videos paired with word documents chock-full of notes regarding anything related to a death that could be linked to Kira. This included names, times, dates, means, whereabouts, as much information disclosed…et cetera. He figured that as long as he did what he was told, he could be as childish as he wanted to be. He was a grown young man who still played video games—what more could be expected of him?

The blonde stomped up to Matt and snatched the lit cigarette from his lips and threw it onto the ground, only to trample it with his boot. He then snatched the packet of cigarettes and tossed it behind his shoulder. There was no doubt that the other male would get another pack, but he could at least keep the putrid smell of smoke out of his nostrils for the time being.

"Christ, Matt, what did I do to you?" he snarled.

Matt had expected some reaction, but not Mello picking up his cigarette and stomping it out. Great. Now his cigarettes were somewhere across the room.

"It's my apartment," he pointed out, his expression still contorted into something none too friendly. At least he had been keeping up with his job. But it wasn't really his job, was it? He was just following orders, when he could have simply kicked Mello out and gone back to his depraved video games.

"What do you mean, what did you do to me?" This was the most that Matt had spoken in a while. "What the hell happened to you, huh? Always have to be number fucking one."

Matt sat up further, standing and crossing the room, scanning the floor to try and find his pack. Giving up, he headed to the kitchen to open a drawer and produce a fresh box. Fuck Mello. "Do you ever stop to think about someone other than yourself, Mello? Jesus." Matt lit another cigarette.

Mello had nothing to say to that. Just an internal fuming, where he stood and seethed until the words had worn off. The only thing that kept the blonde from punching the hell out of him right now was self restraint, and even that was fading fast. "If I piss you off so much, why don't you kick me out?" He knew he was walking a fine line by suggesting such a thing, but it was a point he had wanted to make for quite awhile. Besides, he wanted to bait more than just insults and scathing acknowledgements from the bastard.

"Besides, I thought we agreed that you'd smoke outside? Do you know what that shit can do to your lungs?" If Kira didn't get him first, Mello imagined that Matt would die of lung cancer. It figured. He didn't even care, the son of a bitch. About himself, that was. Seemingly the very opposite of the older one who had come to stay.

"All right. Go. Get out," he answered half-heartedly, sighing and taking a deep inhale off his cigarette. Lung cancer was the least of his worries. Apparently though, not only did he not care about lung cancer, he didn't care about whether or not Mello stayed or went. It went to figure that Mello would bring up something like that and Matt would just blow it off.

After a couple calming breaths through a dangerous filter, Matt seemed to be collected enough to speak again.

"You came to me, didn't you?" he stated, cinnamon smoke unfurling from his lips. "I can't just throw you out."

Another drag. It was apparent that Matt was not only addicted, he was dependent—maybe that was the reason why he was always so mellow, he was constantly chock-full of nicotine. "What kind of friend would I be then?"

"Probably one that's sick of my bullshit," he said honestly, stomping out of the kitchen. Okay, he would admit that he was his vendetta was slightly stupid, but he wasn't giving up so easily. That would only be giving Near the victory. No matter how much he respected Matt, and appreciated his help, there was no way he was giving up for him. Selfish...yes, but this was not something he would die forgetting. Matt would have to understand that. "But fuck...where else was I supposed to go? Can't I come here without worrying about dying of second-hand smoke or something like that?"

He resolved to raid that drawer later and toss out every pack. That would end up saving them both, whether Matt liked it or not, which he probably didn't. Well, that was just too damn bad. He could kill himself on his own time.

"Already got that covered," Matt answered to that one, balancing the cigarette between his lips and opening a window. Maybe that would shut Mello up for awhile.

He doubted it.

Matt stalked back to his couch, but not before exhaling a puff of smoke in Mello's general direction. How was that for secondhand smoke? He pulled his laptop towards him again, making note of the current newsreels before picking up his personally designed and created handheld and resuming his game of Zombie Urban Ninjas. "I donno," he stated finally, staring intently at the tiny screen. "But you just had to drag me in, huh? Guess that's what friends are for." He didn't sound like he meant it.

A sigh escaped Mello's lips, and he turned. "Yeah, that is what friends are for," he said, tossing himself on the couch as well and leaning his head back to examine the ceiling disinterestedly. "And we used to be fucking good friends, huh, Matt?"

He was going absolutely nowhere with this. It was just as well. He didn't feel like following it up with some kind of speech. He just wanted to rant some more. Damn, he wished he had some chocolate… "Hey, do you have any chocolate?" he asked, now sounding sincere. Maybe because he was.

Matt didn't say anything to the comment that sounded more like a probe than any real conversation. Instead, he shrugged at that one. Who said they weren't fucking good friends anymore? They were just in something of a rut. He supposed. Maybe Mello was right, maybe they weren't friends anymore. Matt, however, would like to think otherwise...

"Check the fridge," he answered without commitment, although he knew very well that there would be chocolate somewhere in the house. Matt wasn't an idiot. For as long as Mello was going to stay with him, there would be chocolate in the vicinity.

Gladly, Mello trotted into the kitchen and swung open the refrigerator, eyes lighting up to find a couple of bars sitting inside. He picked one up, tore off the wrapper, and took a chunk off with his teeth. Aahhhh... that was better. His mind cleared, and he was maybe ready to handle Matt's less than favorable attitude.

And so he went back into the living room, gnawing on the chocolate and looking to the entire world like a satiated child, one that was wearing a self-satisfied smirk. "Do you really want me to leave?" he asked. The statement itself was gentle, but his voice was harsh and angry. He could find somewhere else to stay...maybe. Hopefully. Ah shit, who was he kidding? Probably not.

Matt inhaled from his cigarette, still letting it sit placidly between his lips as his ball of coloured scraps and toys rolled around on the screen.

"No," he stated as he exhaled, the smoke drifting away from him. No, he did not want Mello to leave. As annoying as the other got, and as many times as Matt found himself wishing that Mello would collect himself and get out, he didn't honestly want the blonde to go. He had his reasons, of course—none of which he cared to disclose any time soon, but all the same... "You brought it up. Do you want to leave?"

"Hell no," he said, returning to his place on the couch. He lounged across it like a pampered cat, draping one arm across a knee as he glared ahead, pallid eyes ignoring both the man next to him and the bar in his hand. "I could never find another place to go. And besides, who's a better help than you?"

By help, he truly meant help, but the way Mello was working him, Matt could have construed it a completely different way. The male flicked his tongue over the chocolate, taking part of it into his mouth eagerly and chewing. His way of eating chocolate was ritualistic, but it kept him sane. In fact, the sugary food was the only thing that did keep him sane. Hell knew that nothing else could, especially not now when half his body had been burnt to a crisp, and his enemy was gliding by him in their goal.

Matt chuckled knowingly—he figured that Mello's answer would be something to this degree. Of course, despite all his hookups and his notorious, infamous name, there wasn't too much that could be done by way of lodging if no one was willing to take such a hardened criminal in. Besides, without a mafia, what did Mello have left to threaten people with? Mello himself was pretty damn vicious, but it wasn't like he was about to bloody his hands any time soon.

"Of course, I've got the brains and the equipment." Not the attention span, apparently, but he was still doing a damn good job of carrying out whatever Mello wanted without question. It was lucky that Matt wasn't a very confrontational person.

Mello snorted. A most unconventional sound, true, but he was in no mood to restrain his mirth.

"The brains?" he chuckled. "Alright. Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Matt. But the equipment, yes...and the sustenance? Definitely. And we both know that I couldn't leave because you're the only one with an apartment around here. How that happened, I don't know."

He was walking a fine line again, insulting his only way to stay in the game. Matt could just throw him out, and he had the right to, but he hadn't yet. That made him curious.

"Why don't you throw me out?" he asked, cocking his head. "And don't give me any of that 'fine, Mello, leave' bullshit."

Matt only smiled as the other insulted his intelligence—true, Matt hadn't been the most extraordinary kid in Wammy's house, but he would blame that on his lack of focus any day. Of course, with all sorts of electronics, gadgets, wiring and hacking, he excelled, but anything else he'd just been too busy daydreaming about videogames to care about. How he made it to third was, to this day, equivalent to the eighth wonder of the world.

His smile furthered a bit at the other's curiosity. It was nice to have Mello dangling. "Fine, Mello, leave," he echoed, clearly humoured with himself. It didn't look like Mello would be able to get a straight answer out of Matt any time soon.

Mello rolled his eyes and tilted his head back farther, his shoulder-length hair falling back, to the point where it nearly touched the armrest.

"Ah, fuck you, Matt," he said, righting himself once again and sighing. The no-straight-answer aspect of it was really beginning to piss him off. He was curious, there was no doubt about that, and the male probably wouldn't answer any of his questions, just to irritate him. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Of course he was. The blonde merely wanted to hear that from him. He lifted a booted foot and kicked him, almost playfully, but not quite to the point where he could have hurt him.

"Gladly," he muttered under his breath, although that smile still played on his lips. It was obvious that he was still very much amused with the situation, whether or not he should be. As for doing this on purpose, "Of course."

There they were: Mello had heard it out of Matt's own mouth that he was torturing the other by giving less-than-brazen answers and devoting more attention to his mindless video game than the conversation at hand. He yelped in surprise when Mello kicked him, though, his cigarette dropping from his lips. He fumbled with it, making a grab and managing to snatch it out of the air.

"Oh, fuck you," he retorted, throwing the other's insult back at him as he pulled his feet up onto the couch, curling into a corner of it to ward off any further playful blows. "At least you know I'm not gonna kick you out."

"But you're obnoxious just for the sake of being obnoxious," Mello pointed out, drawing back his boot with satisfaction, and sitting up at Matt's recoil. "And you're killing yourself slowly. What's the point of that?" He frowned at the cigarette. "You're just dumping a bunch of ash into your body. And you're okay with that?"

He nibbled on his chocolate, inclining his chin in the anticipation of his answer. He had never really understood what was so appealing about a cylindrical piece of paper with nicotine stuffed inside it. A lot of people from the mafia smoked, but none of them dared to smoke within a few feet of Mello. That was just asking to get shot in the head.

It made sense that Matt, therefore, would be the only one with the guts—or the stupidity—to smoke right in Mello's face. He puffed a smoke ring in the other's direction. "Perfectly okay," he answered, that smile curling his lips again. "You're clotting your veins as we speak, so I wouldn't be talking if I were you," he reprimanded with an air of nonchalance, taking his cigarette between his fingers and blowing out what smoke had accumulated in his mouth. The air around the couch now smelled faintly of cinnamon.

"I have a less likely chance of dying than you," he said loftily. "Besides, I'm not clotting my veins, but I am increasing my blood sugar levels. Same difference, maybe, but you're still going to die first," he grimaced as the smoke came his way and his hand flew to his belt, where he withdrew a pistol and pointed it maliciously at the other. His expression remained blank, though. "Christ, Matt...can't you smoke somewhere else?" He was starting to get immensely perturbed. "Or at least try to keep me from inhaling your godforsaken nicotine?" He sighed, exhaling as much of it as possible.

Matt shook his head—as much as Mello talked, Matt figured that Mello would die first. It wasn't their habits that were going to kill them, it was their lifestyle. Matt versus Mello; Matt whom stayed at home and only went out when Mello told him to, operating all their bases from his couch—and Mello who was out and riding motorbikes around, associating himself with the hotshot mafia.

Oh yeah.

Three guesses who was going to die first.

"Heh." Matt expertly blew a smoke ring to encase the muzzle of Mello's gun, but inched no further. Mello wasn't going to shoot him. At least, Matt certainly hoped not. Shoot _at_ him, maybe. Shoot him, Matt was banking that they were good enough friends not to deliberately kill each other.

"It's tasty."

But Mello didn't lower his gun.

"What? Your cigarette?" He shook his head then, and only then, he put his gun away, tucking it into his pants, which seemed to have no room for anything, especially not something as massive as his weapon. He scowled. Matt was infuriating. He had no idea what had possessed him to be friends with the other anyway, besides the fact that at the time, he had been the only one to talk to him. But he supposed that was the hazards of being Mello. He supposed that the gamer wasn't all bad, despite his apparent mood swings, and his disgusting smoke fetish.

Matt actually seemed to breathe easier now that Mello's gun was put away. One day, Mello was going to have a nasty accident with that thing. Matt would be there to say 'I told you so', because he had. Numerous times.

"It's cinnamon," he pointed out shortly as though it weren't already obvious. Matt was having a hard time being shut up and quiet about how pissed off he was at Mello—but with the other there, it was hard to be mad at him. When he was gone, though, Matt could fume all he wanted because he couldn't tease the other with his circulatory ways. "You weren't really going to shoot me, were you?"

A devilish grin curled on Mello's face. "I could have," he said. "Were you going to test me?" He stood up, pleased to have baited a reaction like that. He didn't expect Matt to take him seriously. Then again, he was brandishing a loaded weapon, and he had used it enough times to cause discomfort. It wasn't unheard of, though Mello knew he wouldn't shoot his only chance for survival. Who had helped him when he had gotten himself blown up, anyway? It was Matt, and although he wouldn't openly admit his thanks, he could think about it all he wanted.

Matt only chuckled at the grin that followed onto Mello's features. "I always do," he answered truthfully—and he did. If there was one thing that Matt had to be notorious for other than his expertise in electronics and his smoking habit, it was the fact that he loved to push his boundaries. One day, it was going to get him killed. "I was hoping you wouldn't, though."

Not only were they friends, Matt did realize that Mello almost depended on him. After all—he was the one providing the equipment, the company, the housing, the food—and the debt of dragging Mello home and fixing him up. Yeah. Matt had a lot to bank on in the event of Mello threatening him with a gun.

"Fuck, Matt," he said, supporting one cheek with his knuckles. "I won't shoot you. I can't." He sighed and stretched out his legs, not caring if Matt was in the way or not. Okay, Matt was all right when he wanted to be. Maybe that was the reason they became friends. "And why are you acting friendly all of a sudden? I thought it was your time of the month." He grinned. A stupid comment, sure, but it fit Matt's mood swings lately pretty accurately. Besides, it was all apart of the game they played: back and forth. No one really was pissed at the other, except for when they were alone and in a bad mood.

Matt grinned back. "I know." Hell, if Mello shot him, he'd die of shock and not injury. Upon finishing his cigarette, he leaned over to the ashtray sitting near the foot of the couch and put it out, dropping it to collect with the other butts. "Do you know how hard it is to stay mad at you, you jackass?" Matt questioned Mello, arching a brow at him. He reached a saving point in his game and set it aside, uncurling from his position to accommodate Mello's legs, only to kick up his boots against the other's knees. "I just get pissed when I can brood on it. But hell, I can't talk to you and not crack jokes."

Mello grinned maliciously. "I tend to have that effect on people," he said propping his elbows up on the armrest and surveying the one opposite him. He probably should have been monitoring Kira, but he could use a break...besides, his chocolate was nearly gone, coaxing a small frown from the blonde. But that really didn't matter. He could get some more, right? But he felt unusually tired. Maybe he would get a nap before he took his chocolate and went out on another one of his 'fun runs' around the city. He needed a way to get to Near now, to get his photograph back. Even if he had to pry it out of the kid's cold, dead fingers.

People, huh? He supposed that he was just another person. after all—he'd said it himself. Mello was just around because he had a debt to Matt, and Matt was his only option. Even though he'd thought it, he'd never mentioned it—he'd never said Mello lingered because Mello and Matt were friends. 'Friends' was not a motive in the life they led—at least, Matt refused to believe it was for Mello. That just complicated things too much.

Looking somewhat forlorn, Matt decided that he needed another cigarette. Pulling the new pack form his pocket, he drew one out and lit it, taking a puff and draping his arm over the couch back to keep it out of Mello's way. He attempted a smirk, quite victorious in doing so. "Better?"

He couldn't help but smile. At least the other was making an attempt...but 'cinnamon' was still no excuse to be puffing cancer all over the room. But it wasn't as if he could really do anything about it. Sure, Mello could bitch, and bitch he did, but he could never permanently get rid of the gamer's awful habit. If he could get him to be courteous at least, as he was doing now, maybe the next step would be to convince him to go outside every time he had the urge to light a cigarette. Doubtful, but he wasn't beyond trying.

"Much," he commented, surveying them both. They were sprawled out on the couch, not doing anything at all. A pang of something nagged at the blonde's mind, but he ignored it. Break first...he had once before told himself that he needed it.

Matt contented himself with a couple of drags off his cigarette, letting his head drop back against the arm rest of the couch. It was times like this where Mello was bearable—when he wasn't giving orders, or obsessing over Kira, or talking about Near... Just Matt and Mello, lounging on a couch like the lazy asses they were. Well. The lazy ass Matt was. It made him slightly reminiscent of their younger years at Wammy's. Matt brought his head up and looked at Mello.

"You know," he started, peering at the other obscurely for a moment, then pulling his goggles down as though this would help him. All it did was turn Mello a faint orangey-yellow. "You're finally not talking about Kira." Matt paused. "Are you sick?"

Mello cocked his head and thought about it. It was true. He wasn't. Not that he hadn't thought about that fact before; it was just that when Matt reminded him, it suddenly brought new meaning to the words. Well, fuck Near. He was a bit of an obsessive idiot, anyway...probably playing with his toys. Maybe that would buy the blonde some time to simply do nothing. Well, that was the only thought that assuaged his racing mind.

"Maybe I am," he said passively, looking down at the now empty chocolate wrapper in his hand. He groaned inwardly at the loss. Why hadn't he eaten it slower? Mello made a move to get up off of the seat. Knowing him, he'd have the refrigerator cleaned out by the end of the day.

Matt made a mental note to go out and buy Mello some chocolate once he managed to motivate himself enough to leave the apartment. Fresh air, he supposed, would do him some good anyways. He'd been cooped up in his apartment for a while, watching for anything that could help them corner Kira, so maybe that was why he was getting so damned cranky.

"You're still going to go out and do whatever it is you do even if you're sick, aren't you?" he questioned in something of a monotone, taking an absent inhale from his cigarette.

"Of course," said Mello crossly. "If I don't, how the hell are we supposed to get closer to Kira before Near? He has infinite supplies, the bastard, and we have this craphole." He made no attempt to soften his words. Matt's apartment was a craphole compared to where he used to be, and he couldn't deny it. It was only a statement of facts. "Besides… I'm probably not too bad. Nothing chocolate can't fix." Yes, in his mind, chocolate was the panacea of anything illness-related. It had never failed him before.

"Well, if it bugs you so much, go on and get out," Matt told Mello airily, exhaling a ribbon of smoke over his head as he tipped it back again. So they were back to square one.

Matt might have been a pendulum on the clock of moods, but he had a distinct gut feeling that it was Mello's bad attitude that made him that way. Or at least, that was what he'd like to think. Before Mello had come knocking on his door again, Matt had been completely cool and carefree every hour of every day, of every week. And then...he wasn't. Oh well. That was life, he supposed.

"You know, speaking of," he announced, getting up from the couch. Now was a good a time as ever. "We're almost out. I think I'll go and buy some more."

Oh yeah. He made a lot of sense—get mad at Mello, go buy him chocolate. Amazing reasoning, Matt.

Oh, well. Mello, at this point, was used to Matt's mood swings, and therefore didn't care as long as he was getting what he wanted: chocolate and some free help. But was all that he was to him? A provider and a minion? Well, he certainly didn't think of him as a minion, not really. He still liked to think that they were friends, like they were at Wammy's House. But lots had changed since then, hadn't it? L was dead, and Near had finally become his successor, like the blonde had always dismayingly knew he would. Matt was still, amazingly, the same, though...maybe it was Mello that was different. A sigh.

"Hey...I'll come with you."

Matt was halfway through zipping up his vest over his striped shirt when Mello piped up. He paused, seeming to consider this for a moment, and then pulled his zipper up to his throat.

"All right."

Maybe it was the circumstances that had changed. Strangely, Matt was thinking about the same sort of thing Mello was—what the hell was going on with them? Mello was still yearning to be number one, and he was still using whatever means necessary to get there. Matt was still playing along. Hadn't it always been that way? Maybe the stakes were just higher. Maybe that made things a little worse.

Whatever it was, it was really fucking with them, and Matt wished that it would stop.


	2. Chapter 2

**ni.**

Mello hadn't really needed Matt's approval, but he felt as though it helped. Following without consent could probably get bothersome, and would only spur another needless argument. It made him wonder: which of them was the one who initiated these petty fights? It could have been Mello, of course, knowing his need to be the best, but knowing Matt's fracturing moods...it was a conundrum, and he had a really strong urge to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. And meanwhile, beat Near at his own game.

It seemed like a fair deal on his end, but then again, when the plans were first formulated in his mind, they always seemed that way. It was later on when they went awry.

"Thanks," he said hollowly, not bothering to fix his own appearance. There wasn't much to fix with leather.

Walking out of the apartment, into the elevator, out the lobby and onto the streets, dressed the way they were, they definitely made for an odd-looking pair. Matt would like to believe that it was a good sort of odd, though—he'd never admit it, but he very much liked looking nice.

Matt breathed a curl of smoke into the autumn air, tainting it alongside all the other city pollutions.

"Since when did we start getting like this?" he questioned Mello, wondering if the other knew the answers any better than he did. Probably not. But still, it was worth asking. Surely Mello knew that they had always been easy with each other in Wammy's—despite Mello's attitude and all, they'd never been so...snappish.

The question took him slightly off-guard. They had both been thinking it, of course, wondering, but he had never expected either of them to bring it up vocally. It was just natural for them to keep all that confusing shit about themselves buried in the dark recesses of their minds. Still, he was glad he hadn't been the one to say it first. He just wasn't the first to initiate those kinds of things.

"Like what?" he asked, not daring to look at the other. "Hating each other's guts at random intervals?" Mello shrugged one slender shoulder. "How should I know?"

Matt smiled bemusedly, breathing out another curl of smoke before he brought the cigarette back to his lips again, letting it sit there so he could stick his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah," he answered half-heartedly. Maybe he shouldn't have brought it up after all. Then again, he was the one with the crazy mood swings, if he hadn't brought it up, Mello definitely wouldn't have. Although perhaps that was for the best?

"I don't know." Matt finally responded with a noncommittal shrug. "I was just thinking."

"Oh, really?"

And there went Mello's stupid remarks again. He couldn't help it. It was in his nature, and besides, it was now almost a reflex. "You think? Amazing."

Fuck. And now he knew why they were like that. Even he'd get pissed on occasion if someone constantly talked to him like he did Matt. But was he beyond swallowing his pride? Sighing, the male decided that, just this once, he would give in. Just once.

"Shit, sorry, Matt. I guess it's a habit." A stupid one, just like smoking.

Matt's lips clamped hard around the cigarette. He took a deep breath in, air coming straight through the filter. He held the breath before exhaling through the corner of his mouth. So this was why. They were constantly at each other's necks—Matt pushing the boundaries, Mello pushing the buttons. They were like a fucking time bomb.

He nearly muttered 'you don't mean it' to Mello, but even if he didn't—it had to mean something that Mello had even managed to apologize without retching sarcasm on their shoes. "Its fine," he answered with a clip in his words.

There was a long silence. It was unsettling for some reason. And, as Mello did best, he blamed Near. If that brat wasn't in the way, there would be no need for tension. There would be no rush. Half his fucking side wouldn't be singed off. Blaming people seemed to be what he did best, alongside shooting people in the face. He wanted end this stupid feud with Matt. He was already fighting with Near, he didn't need another enemy.

"Really," he said, feeling his obstinate pride ebb away. That stupid red-haired smoker owed him big time... "I'm sorry."

Matt was tempted to quip back something else at Mello-- something to the effect of 'are you?', but he decided to lay off. If Mello could be apologetic, Matt could put aside what part of him that was actually confrontational. He wasn't normally much of one to own up to his problems, but Mello kind of threw everything out of junction for him. A great way to feel about your best friend, really. Matt finished off his cigarette and dropped it to the ground, putting it out with a grind in his step as he continued on.

"You know, I never thought I'd see the day you meant that," Matt commented, but he didn't mean any harm by it. "Maybe you are sick."

"Probably," said Mello morosely, watching the ground out cigarette apathetically. Okay, he had said it; however, there was no was he'd say it again. One of those genuine apologies, or even a sentimental word without malicious intent, was a once in a lifetime thing for the blonde. He was absolutely adamant that this would remain true, though was known to betray himself. Chocolate. That's what he needed...and then he'd be fine. Just fine.

"I just need sustenance." And by sustenance, he meant that muddy brown sweet that made him somewhat content with life.

Matt chuckled at the other's apparent solution for his troubles—chocolate it was. He pushed his way through a candy shop's doors—there were grocery stores closer to home, but he'd picked this place because...well. It was dumb, but it made him feel something like a kid. Matt would never admit this out loud. If anyone asked, it was so he could pick up some fireballs for himself.

"Here we are, then. Get some chocolate so you'll be to your right, bitter mind again," Matt invited, looking around the sweets shop. Everywhere there were glass jars variously filled with different kinds of coloured candy. It was easy to see why Matt liked the store—it was like a psychedelic candy trip. If anything, the bright colours were almost reminiscent of a video game.

If you looked close enough, you'd see that flash of giddiness behind Mello's eyes. It was another rare occurrence; he was full of them these days. So much so that he doubted he could control it, and was suddenly suspicious as to whether Matt's mood swings were contagious. Maybe he just needed something to shoot. He resolved to go somewhere in the backlot and set up a pillowcase with a face drawn on it. That would assuage his fractured mind.

Somehow, the idea of Mello unloading a cartridge into a smiling pillowcase was more amusing than the thought of Mello having a childish delight over candy. Then again, they both seemed to be equally bizarre.

The male stomped nonchalantly over to a shelf of them, deciding that he'd pay Matt back if he ever got the chance (given that he hated being in anyone's debt), and scooped up a stack. It should last him for at least a week, or maybe more, if he was careful. Well, he probably wouldn't be careful. That would be a problem if he got into a situation where he couldn't leave the apartment, which was where he was headed.

In the meanwhile, Matt was busy gathering some sour gummy worms and the small, red, cinnamon-coated candy that he quite enjoyed. Tying his star-spangled bag with a silver twist-tie, Matt turned back to Mello to see him holding an armload of chocolate bars. Chuckling, he nodded to the register and headed over to pay.

"So how long is that going to last you?" he questioned, knowing quite well that it wouldn't last long at all.

"A week," he answered automatically. "But I wouldn't count on it too much."

He added in that last part as a precautionary measure, knowing that if he got feverish enough, he'd eat the whole bunch within a few days. Just a hazard of having a sweet tooth, even though he wasn't a big fan of any other form of sugary substance. Not like L used to be.

Shrugging it off and rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he dumped the chocolate on the counter. There was a hell of a lot of perks to living with someone who would freely pay for anything and do whatever he was told. Although Mello still wanted to know why he did that, he wasn't nearly as bothered now. As long as he got what he wanted, he could've cared less.

The girl behind the counter eyed the couple of them warily as she rung them up-- they weren't exactly the kind of people that you expected to walk into a candy store and by a week's worth of chocolate and a little bag of assorted candies. Matt tapped his fingers against the counter to indicate that he was waiting, please, ring them up just a little bit faster and quit gawking. The girl did. He handed over a few bills-- probably larger than the normal person spent on candy-- took the grocery bag that the candy was swept into, and handed it to Mello.

Yes, he was paying; no, he was not carrying the bag.

What he did take out, though, was his little star-covered bag of candy. The bell overhead jangled as they headed back out onto the streets. "Satiated now?"

A sickening smile crossed Mello's face, and he dug out a bar of chocolate before wrapping off the wrapper and taking off a piece between his front teeth. The familiar taste washed over his senses and coaxed a satisfied aura from the blonde male. He ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth marks, already calmed by the sweet.

"Very," he answered, now deciding against the shooting of random pillowcases. Maybe later, when he had a marker and some free time. Which he probably wouldn't have soon, given his dedication to the Kira case. And the Kira case would probably lead him to shoot more than just inanimate objects...

As long as Mello didn't shoot Matt, the red-head didn't really care who he shot. Contenting himself to bite off the head (or tail end) of a sour gummy worm, Matt looked at Mello for a second, the gummy candy still poking out between his lips. "You know," he began, plucking the remaining half of the worm free with his fingers, "we look really funny walking down the street."

Indeed they did; Mello greedily devouring his chocolate, dressed in leather, and Matt decapitating candy worms, clad in a fuzzy vest and goggles. "I wonder why the hell we think we're so badass." Aside from Mello's shooting people, they didn't really seem all that menacing.

Mello started laughing. There was a dark note about the laughter, as if he was incapable of anything pure, but it was an undoubtedly amused laugh. He brought another chunk of chocolate to his lips uncaringly.

"Because we are badass, Matt," he said. But he was right; it was hard not to draw a stare or two the way they were. Not that Mello cares much. They could just go fuck themselves. He would wear what he wanted, and eat what he wanted, and if they didn't like that, that was their problem. "Or at least, I am." He looked the other over, mirth ghosting over his eyes. "I don't know about you.

Matt blinked in surprise when Mello cracked up laughing—that was the last thing that he expected to hear from the other, but he supposed that in a comical situation, Mello was liable to laugh.

"Oh shut up," he grumbled at the other, throwing the remainder of the worm at the blonde's head.

"I have to be pretty damn badass to throw a gummy worm at your head and not get mine shot off," he pointed out—and this was true. Then again, Matt had to be pretty badass to get away with a lot of the things he managed to get away with around Mello.

"Touché," he shot back, glaring in disdain at the fallen candy and laughing slightly again, before letting that die down. "But it's a shame, you bastard, because in a couple of minutes you'll be pissed at me again. Maybe we should buy you some birth control pills." He smiled at his own jest. It was the least he could do, since this would probably provoke no happy reaction from the other. Or maybe he'd just roll his eyes and take out another cigarette.

Just keep your candy to yourself, and I'll keep my bullets to myself...mused Mello.

Matt groaned, chucking a snowcap at the other this time around. "I don't need to up my levels of estrogen," he assured the blonde, grimacing slightly at the thought.

He pulled out a cigarette while they were still in the open air and therefore less likely to be subject to Mello's complaining about his smoking habit. "You on the other hand, I don't know...Temper, temper." Matt mused, lighting up.

"Ah, fuck you," he said, deciding against throwing anything of his own. Chocolate was too precious for that. "I don't need this from a man on his period."

He took an abnormally large bite out of the bar, staring down at it to find only a quarter gone. Well, that was less than he usually ate in such a short period of time. Mello narrowed his eyes at the cigarette, but let it go. They were outside, after all, and as long as he didn't rub the putrid thing in his face, he could more or less ignore its presence.

Only the smell of flavoured nicotine kept it at the front of the older male's mind.

Matt groaned, shaking his head and tucking his candy away into his pocket. He wasn't about to mix the flavour of cigarettes with candy—that was just asking for poisoning.

Breathing a long exhale of relief, he stuck his free hand into his pocket and took a detour away from the route to his apartment. "I don't want to go back yet," he explained, although he really wasn't sure where he wanted to go either. It wasn't like they could freely waltz about—Mello was a wanted criminal, and if anything, they might give away their location to the other sides of the Kira hunt. Matt, nevertheless, was going to deem this 'break time' and was going to take advantage of it.

Mello would be damned before he would worry unduly about getting caught. The chance was low that Kira or a member of the SPK was lurking around here. He couldn't be completely sure, however, so he sighed and wished he had his jacket. Then he could at least attempt to hide his face. But eh. He was feeling surprisingly at ease. Unusual. To be sure, however, he was going to work Matt to the bone on the Kira case when they got back. Because he would let Matt go wherever he wanted for now.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, blinking slowly. "Where do you plan to go, then?"

Matt suspected something like that when they came back from their little outdoor excursion, so he was taking advantage of it while he could. "I don't know," he admitted, walking aimlessly for the present time. "A walk in the park isn't badass enough, and...I don't know. What do hardened criminals do in their spare time?" he questioned Mello, looking over to him with a completely serious inquisitive look in his eyes. It was at this point that he noticed that Mello was fairly relaxed for walking around in the middle of the city-- but then again, he did have a rather large stack of chocolate with him, maybe that was what was keeping him so placated.

"We kill people," he said, without so much of a thought, a smirk peeling over his face. This was partially meant to be a joke, yet it seemed so serious. Maybe because that's how Mello climbed his way up the Mafia ladder, knocking off important people and taking their places. It was a grueling job, but it was necessary to get what he wanted. He absently tugged another piece of chocolate away from the rest of the bar.

"But I doubt that's what you want to do."

Matt raised an eyebrow, sucking a deep breath through his cigarette before answering. "Nope. Not at all."

He should have figured something like that would be Mello's answer. Maybe it would be best just to go home, if they couldn't find anything else to do... Actually, Matt was pretty sure he wasn't ready to do that. In fact, he wanted to hit the arcades, but...the idea of Mello playing arcade games with him was a little too bizarre.

"...What do you think of killing virtual people? With a plastic gun? That you can't kill me with?"

"Video games?" Mello inquired, cocking a brow, unsure whether to smile sadly or frown. "Don't you do that enough at the apartment?"

Even so, shooting virtual people could blow off some steam, without the consequences that killing real people would bring. And besides, hadn't he decided to be civil with Matt today, and rather lenient? Alright. The pros far outnumbered the cons, and the blonde couldn't help but shrug.

"Alright, I'll humour you. Hell knows that you've rotted your brain already with those damn Nintendo games." Or whatever console he was using now.

"Video games. And the arcade has some of the old school ones that I don't," Matt confirmed with a self-satisfied nod, chuckling to himself at Mello's queries. If you were Matt, you could never have, or play, too many video games. He brightened subtly though, when Mello agreed to humour him and play along. Cracking an inward grin, Matt took a final drag from his cigarette before putting it out in the gutter.

"Come on," he urged the other, leading the way to a cramped arcade downtown. "And it's an X-box. Jeeze. Know your consoles."

"Ah, excuse me for not being a geek like you," said Mello, rolling his eyes. "An X-box. I'll keep that in mind."

He was, of course, being sarcastic, but it really didn't matter. Matt was rather funny, the way his eyes lit up at the confirmation. It almost made him glad he had said yes, and gone along with this. Almost, but not quite.

Incessant gaming still bugged the shit out of him, no matter how much pleasure it gave the other. Well...it was the least he could do since he worked Matt like a dog. And Matt let himself get treated like one.

If confronted, Matt would just point out that they were friends. However, even this seemed like a stretch. Who else let their friends work them, live in their apartment, put them in a situation where they could be arrested...whatever Mello wanted, Mello got with Matt. It was a mystery why Matt put up with it. But…

Matt sure as hell knew the answer.

He led the other to the arcade, into the depths of the bleating noises, flashing lights, cursing gamers and the general calamity of it all. Tucked in a corner was a game with two plastic guns—electric blue and hot pink—sitting in metal holsters.

"Take your pick," he invited with a faint, amused smile, rummaging in his wallet for a couple quarters.

"Not much of a choice, eh?" mused Mello, picking up the pink one and turning it in his hands. It was light, unreasonably light, but he supposed he had to expect that from a plastic toy on a wire. He aimed it expertly, staring straight ahead at the screen to practice. Maybe this was why Matt was such a good shot. He played mindless games like this. Okay, maybe not so mindless. If he could aim a gun as well as he did from simply shooting at digital moving pictures, then something good could be said about it.

"You think you can beat me?" he asked, turning the fake weapon from hand to hand. He had shot mafia bosses at a range that was nearly impossible for anyone to physically hit. It seemed like a walk in the park for the older male.

Matt stifled a laugh at Mello's choice of weapon—given that these were plastic, he somehow didn't doubt that Mello would pass up a chance to pistol whip him. Best be on good behavior for the time being.

He slipped two quarters into the machine, letting it start up and guide them through the game without much attention. They were not twelve-year-old boys. They did not need to be told that pulling the trigger would result in someone getting shot.

They'd tested this for themselves.

"Probably not," Matt openly admitted—games were his expertise, but Mello was by far a better shot than he was. "But I'll put up a fight."

"You're on."

Mello probably hadn't had this much fun in awhile, not that he showed it much on his face. A slender smile was the only thing that lingered there as he aimed and fired, hitting each target with ease, and swearing profusely if he missed any. He often looked over at Matt's screen, unable to remember how long ago it had been since he had concentrated this hard on something other than the Kira case. It was Matt's fault, he decided, his eyes screwing in lieu of concentration. It was funny how serious he was taking this.

Whereas Mello shot down his targets thanks to his personal usage of a gun—Matt was nailing each one judging on a gamer's point of view. Strangely, the way they aimed and fired at their victims was strikingly similar. Just went to show what the youth of today was learning.

"Mello," Matt hissed, feigning severity, "there are little kids around."

The red-haired youth proved to be a hypocrite though—he soon missed a monster and swore loudly. They were both taking this far too seriously for a game—although, in Matt's defense, this was how avid gamers always behaved in the face of serious competition.

Mello most certainly did not consider himself an avid gamer. He wasn't like Matt, not one bit. He was just competitive.

"Ahh...fuck—what, Matt?"

He didn't dare look over at the other, not wanting to distract himself. Though he had never considered the other his rival, he would have been immensely put out should he have won. The blonde cocked the gun, firing off two virtual rounds with a smirk. If it wasn't so blatantly fake, he would have been convinced he was still shooting at the police, or rival gangs. He felt childish, a grown man standing in the middle of an arcade, amongst dozens of curious children, cussing at a game that was aimed for younger audiences.

They were shooting monsters. Come on. How much more childish could they get? Matt picked up a round of ammo—shots from being out completely. They were almost at the end of the course—hopefully this would last him. He inhaled, holding the breath as he shot down a couple more creatures.

"Just a bit more, Mello, how are you doing?" he taunted, his character ducking behind a crate as a monster retaliated and nearly blew off his head. He fired off his gun down to a couple shots just when the statistic screen popped up, indicating that their game was over. Matt chuckled, turning to Mello with complete nonchalance and blowing pretend smoke off the muzzle of his gun. "See, Mello, isn't this fun? And look, the police aren't even after you this time."

"Lucky me," said the male, grinning. He was enjoying himself. Fancy that. Sticking his gun back in the holster it had came in, he stretched slightly, revealing his stomach slightly at the stretch of his leather. The hazards of enjoying such different clothing...and different certainly was the word for it. Mello sighed and picked up the plastic gun again, aiming it squarely at the other's chest, producing a sufficient clicking sound.

"Aren't you glad that wasn't real?" He smiled teasingly and put it away for a final time, turning away to retrieve the chocolate he had set on the floor.

Matt arched a brow at the other, admittedly taking a sharper breath at the event of a hot pink gun being pointed at his chest.

"Ever want to do that with your gun?" he questioned, eyeing the other. Mello was such an...odd...companion.

Glancing back to the game screen, Matt chuckled. "You beat me." He pointed out, gesturing to the statistics, which showed that he lost by three targets. Plus, he'd used a bit more ammo than Mello, so his score took a hit because of it.

"No," he said calmly, truthfully. He picked another chocolate bar from the bag, as he wasn't able to help himself, and ripped the wrapper down part way to place the thing gently between his teeth and lash his tongue against the sweetness before breaking it off and chewing it.

"Yeah, it looks like I did," Mello continued nonchalantly, though grinning in spite of himself. "Jealous?"

Stupid question, sure, but he was trying to enjoy himself without worrying about anything, and teasing Matt was just too fun. He took it well.

That was something of a relief to hear. Matt didn't really think that the other wanted to shoot him too often, but he had looked into the barrel of Mello's gun too many times to be sure. "Good." He answered simply, sticking his hands into his pockets and fingering the meager amount of change left. Maybe they could play another game-- he hardly thought that this change would do him any good another day.

Matt cracked a smile himself at the other's grin—it was somewhat characteristic to see on his face, but not in this instance.

"Completely," he played along, feigning a look of shame. "I'd ask for a rematch, but you'd just school me again." Not that Matt had actually been schooled—sure, he lost, but hey, he wasn't too shabby himself.

He turned away, knowing that they had to get back. No matter how much it had been fun, he couldn't let himself get distracted like this. There was too much to do, and so little time to get a leg up on whatever Near was planning, which, at this point, Mello had no idea. He inwardly cursed when he found himself thinking about Near again. If he did that too much, the bastard would control his mind, and eventually ruin his whole operation.

"Yeah, I probably would," he said, balancing his thumbs on the waistline of his leather pants softly, walking toward the exit. "If you want to stay here awhile, that's fine. I have some things to do..." Matt could catch up later. He figured he could do without the other for awhile, at least.

Or maybe not.

Matt was vaguely surprised—maybe Mello could do something else, but it was rare that Mello voluntarily let Matt wander around an arcade and play games on his own. Hell, Matt was a good dog on a strong leash—Mello didn't need to let Matt play games to get Matt to help him out.

The redhead wasn't exactly stupid enough to turn down an offer of time in an arcade, but he also wasn't stupid enough to not stick around with Mello. Who knew what the hell the other could be up to? He fingered the change hanging out in his pocket before shrugging nonchalantly.

"Nah, it's cool. I'll come with you."

Later. The coins would answer their calling later.

Matt, turning down freedom? And not only that, but the freedom to play games all day. Not that he didn't do that anyway, but it was still strange. Mello cast him a skeptical look, but shrugged it off and wandered on, until he was out on that street again. He vaguely mused about why he was strutting about so nonchalantly. He knew several wanted him dead, and could too easily recognize him the way he tended to dress.

"I never thought you'd say that," he commented, feeling more at ease with a reply, rather than just silence. Matt was perhaps the only one who wasn't with him just for the sake of getting to Kira.

Matt was probably the only one around who was a friend, that was why. Matt pulled out a cigarette for compensation—figuring that it was the best he could treat himself to in lieu of sticking around the arcade and playing games. He lit it up, careful to hold it so that the smoke billowed away form Mello.

"What, turn down the arcade?" He quietly held in his amusement, knowing full well that it was the last thing you expected to hear from him. Hell, it was the last thing he expected from himself. "I know... I'm just making sure you don't get yourself killed somehow."

"What? You would care if I died?"

He looked at him with an utmost serious expression, though you would maybe consider it joking. Call it Mello's need for an assurance that someone actually cared, but he was serious. Near only wanted him to get closer to Kira, and the mafia only stuck around that long because of loyalty, and if they tried to backstab him, they'd end up with a bullet or two in their skull. Matt didn't seem like he was there for either of those reasons, but Mello never really did accept the concept of friendship.

"Sure," Matt answered. It might have been sarcasm if he didn't sound completely genuine about it. However, he stated it so casually that it was obvious he didn't quite accept the idea of friendship, just like Mello. Matt, though, knew that he stuck around because they were friends. He knew that he would care if Mello died because they were friends. And hell, if he wanted to be really sentimental about it-- he would admit to actually caring about Mello because they were friends. They'd known each other since Wammy's House, and Matt had a bit of an attachment to the other. Its name was friendship.

"Are you surprised?"

Mello snorted. He didn't know why he did, but it seemed like the most appropriate response, even if it did sound a bit apathetic.

"A little bit, yeah," he said. He could afford to be truthful. "I don't see what it would matter, but maybe that's just me being, well, me." Melodramatic Mello. It fit him, really, but if anyone tried to call him that without express permission, it could end up unfavorably.

Matt smiled faintly. He was further amused, but he kept that inwards. Matt wasn't known for expressing too much on an ordinary basis—and telling Mello that he would care if the blonde died still counted as 'ordinary basis'. "Well, I was surprised that you never really wanted to shoot me before, so we're even." He pointed out, continuing down the street.

"So, Boss," he commented, mocking their semi-established relationship of friends. "Where are we headed?"

"Back," he stated matter-of-factly. "I'm going to meet Hal again tonight...and use her to get to Near. I need my picture back."

And by picture, obviously, he meant the photo of himself that he had left behind at Wammy's House. No one could grudge him going back to get that, especially since it could mean life or death when placed in the wrong hands. And wouldn't you know it, that bastard Near had gotten it first. It pissed him off to no end.

Hal. What a weird woman. She was the sternest lady he'd seen around—so damn professional too. Matt figured that she just needed to get laid.

"Next time, then, you'll remember to snag your picture before you storm out of an orphanage, hmn?" He commented as though Mello would be storming out of an orphanage any time soon. Hell, Matt was teasing Mello again—it seemed to be something he quite enjoyed doing. As long as he didn't push any fatal buttons, that was...

"Oh, yeah, next time," said Mello, rolling his eyes. "I guess I just had too much on my mind."

He knew he'd get it eventually, anyway. Hal had a thing for him, so it wouldn't be too hard to worm his way in to Near. She didn't like him to the point of betraying Near, though, so he was at an impasse there. Not that he had planned to get Hal over on his side. He doubted she could do much for him, besides tell him about the younger's movements. But the blonde already knew that, so he was better off with just Matt.

And besides, Matt was less likely to betray Mello. Hal might, for some reason, go back to Near—or be playing double-agent on his orders. Matt, on the other hand, had come to Mello in the elder's time of need, had stuck by him, and had unquestioningly followed his orders without complaint. There was very, very little chance of Matt ever forsaking Mello.

"If you're going out to meet Hal, what do you want me to do tonight?" he questioned, seeing as their conversation was going to end up being streamed to business again anyway. He might as well get it over with.

Mello's pace quickened as they neared the apartment complex, taking out another bar of chocolate ravenously and ripping through it was his teeth.

"Stay here and monitor things," he informed. "If things go as planned, I'll get my picture back, and maybe make things manageable so that I can use Near the way he's always using me. He has the resources, after all."

A sigh. Near always did. Even in Wammy's House, it was clear who was going to succeed L. It made Mello feel vastly inferior.

Hey, Matt had never stood a chance. But that was all right-- like a few other kids in the orphanage, the technician had never aspired to be L. It was true that it was that he was in the orphanage for, but the fact that being L would have cut away his time to play video games had seriously deterred him as a kid, and the mentality had stuck with him since.

He nodded to Mello's instructions, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing a casual stream of cinnamon smoke off to the side to trail behind him like a banner.

"When will you be back?" He wanted to know a time to expect Mello, or at least a time range. That way, he could get concerned if the other didn't return within the hour. But he wasn't about to say that.

"I don't know," he phrased honestly. "Maybe midnight. Maybe later. I have things to do afterward..."

Mello didn't expect the other to ask exactly what he planned to do, since it was clear he wouldn't get a straight answer. The blonde didn't make it a point to explain his business, unless it affected Matt in some way.

He frowned as he closed in on the general vicinity of the apartment, able to see it clearly from where he was progressing. It wasn't as though he didn't like taking a break every now and then, but he didn't want to fail.

Matt nodded discretely, sucking in air through his cinnamon filter and breathing it out in a slow ribbon after holding it for a moment or two. He held any further questions to himself—not that he had any. He just didn't think about he subject at hand any more. His job was simple: monitor the happenings, the continuous job of checking for clues to Kira, and then think up of all the scenarios where Mello could have met his untimely end when the time came. That last bit was his own doing, of course.

He looked at the apartment building coming up ahead, kind of wishing that he had taken up Mello's offer of playing in the arcade. Hell, maybe he should have dropped by the game store and bought something new to play while Mello was out doing his business. Matt was an excellent multi-tasker.

"Well. Just don't get yourself killed."

Mello snickered, not necessarily a foreign sound, but perhaps in this context, it was. He grinned broadly and stared up at the sky, knowing full well that Matt was right: he was susceptible to getting himself killed. It was shame that he didn't care all that much about his well-being. It would get him killed one way or another; maybe if he was more conscientious to his life, he would have been careful. It was all about beating Near, not saving yourself. Life wasn't worth saving if he was in perpetual second place.

"I'll try," he said, casting a cold smile to Matt.

An 'I'll try' seemed to content Matt, for he said nothing more on the matter and merely put out the small remainder of his cigarette. Tossing it aside to the gutter, where it laid among other discarded cigarettes, Matt shoved his hands back into the pockets of his vest, his fingers closing around the bag of candy still lurking there. In the other pocket quietly jangled his unspent change.

In fact, it was calling to him now—but he had a job to do and by gods he would do it, lest he face the wrath of Mello. He could play games on his handheld.


	3. Chapter 3

**san.**

Matt held the key to the apartment. Mello had never wanted one, not wanting the responsibility. Besides, Matt would never leave the room as long as the blonde was out, or else it would mean a shitload of complaining to endure. And it was a given that he didn't want to withstand complaining from Mello.

So, when they got up to the room, he stood back and allowed the other access. He would have mumbled a sarcastic 'after you', but he wasn't in that kind of mood.

Matt clutched the apartment key in his hand, finding it amongst all the change with ease. However, he with held opening the door quite yet.

"Shit," he commented, using that same nearly indifferent tone that he used with just about anything. "I can't find the key."

Maybe Mello would toast him for this one—maybe not. Matt was just trying his chances here, and that was nothing new.

"I think it mighta fallen out back in the arcade," he pointed out, giving a viable excuse for the lie.

Mello cocked an eyebrow. "At the arcade?"

He was about to explode, and go back to get it on his own before stabbing the red head a few times with the barrel of his gun. But, he didn't. He merely sighed and leaned back on his left foot, stalking away. "I guess we're going to have to go get then, won't we?" He stopped and wheeled around, waiting. Mello wasn't going to scream at it this time, but he could forget going back to the arcade.

Matt observed the 'I'm about to explode but I'm restraining myself' behavior before feeling a smile coming on. He restrained himself too—he didn't want to give himself away, nor was he exactly notorious for smiling so much at his own jokes anyway. Besides, he knew that this was his last chance to tease Mello before the other ran off and let Matt wallow in his own self-pity and negative mood. This, of course, meant that by the time Mello came back, Matt would be giving him the silent treatment again. It was unable to be helped. It was practically routine now.

"Just kidding," he told Mello as the blonde whirled around again. He procured the key and tossed it into the air, catching it and holding it up between two fingers. "I was hoping you'd do something more interesting, but I guess you can't have everything," he admitted, unlocking the door and disappearing into the apartment before Mello decided to pistol whip him or something.

"Bastard," hissed Mello, taking his weapon out and shooting the floor space in front of Matt. Interesting enough?

"I really hate you, you know that?"

Okay, still no more arcade. And maybe the older one would crush his Nintendo against the wall when they got in. Or maybe both. Who knew the mood Mello would be in a few minutes; maybe he was getting just as moody as Matt. That could have something to do with the new progressions in the Kira case.

Matt jumped back, although it was unnecessary.

"Jeeze," he muttered. "That's going to be hard to explain." He would just have to say that he had no idea in hell what that was doing in front of his door. He stowed away to the couch, kicking off his boots and shedding his vest before he made a round of all the laptops, which he had kept running. They procured nothing new, not that he could tell right off, and so he proceeded to head to the kitchen and fix himself a drink. "Want one?"

He questioned Mello, waving a Smirnoff in his direction. Hell, they were both underage, but they needed it far more than any twenty-one year old that Matt knew.

Mello shook his head.

"Naw," he said. He was never partial to alcohol, drugs, or smoking, even though life in the underground was fraught with it. He had to deal with it then, and even now, with Matt's smoking, but he never did drank unless he was feeling like real shit. And even then, he had chocolate for that.

About the floor...it was fixable. Not that it mattered. What would they do, evict them? They couldn't prove that Mello shot that hole. There were a bunch of druggies in these apartments. Anything could have happened.

"I just hope you didn't hit anyone," Matt commented casually as he popped open the top of the alcoholic drink. He took a swig and let it burn its way down his throat—Matt was full of unhealthy choices where Mello wasn't. He didn't really do drugs, but wouldn't say no if it was offered to him. He drank when he felt like it and smoked all the time—it wasn't too bad. That was what he would like to think, at least. He headed back to the couch, plopping himself onto it and languidly stretching out. He idly fiddled with his laptop for a moment, pulling up a pinball game and muting the computer so that it might at least _look_ like he was doing something productive. He highly doubted that Mello would fall for the ol' mute n' play though.

"Are you heading out soon?"

Even if Matt _was_ playing some kind of useless game, Mello didn't really care. He shoved his bag of chocolate in the refrigerator so that it wouldn't melt, and took the half-bar he still had into his mouth. Supporting it between his front teeth, he stopped in front of the couch to look at the other for a minute, and then stalked off to gather some things he might need for later. Chocolate, namely, and his pistol. Maybe a jacket so that he could better conceal his face.

"Not now," he said, knowing full well that he wasn't ready to face Near yet. It was a personal thing. "Later tonight."

Matt nodded, guessing the motivation behind postponing the meeting, but not voicing it. Hell would freeze over before the time that Matt pointed out any sort of weakness in Mello regarding Near. Well. Almost. It was plausible that Matt would do it one day to really push Mello's buttons, but that was in the event that he wanted to throw himself in the way of mortal peril. "Wanna play pinball?" He offered in that customary random way of his, offering the laptop to the blonde.

Mello stared at the laptop. He didn't suppose he'd ever take an offer like that, and regarded now as no different. He held up a hand and shook his head, gnawing absently on his sweet.

"No," he said moving over to sit on the bar of the kitchen, which was only far enough away so that he could turn his head to catch a full glimpse of Matt's face, those goggles, and his seemingly unnatural dark red hair.

"It's your thing." That wasn't really the reason why he was turning it down, but...well, he couldn't think of the real reason why. Maybe he was just being needlessly oppositional.

Matt shrugged, taking Mello's rejection lightly. He didn't exactly expect Mello to take him up on his offer, but it never hurt to offer. Actually, Matt was constantly offering Mello things that he knew the other would turn down—why he did it, he wasn't exactly sure. He supposed that maybe; just maybe, he was thinking there was an off chance that Mello would lighten up and have fun. He continued playing his game, taking a sip of his Smirnoff as the virtual ball ricocheted around the top of the screen.

"Are you sure?" he questioned again, a faint smirk behind displayed on his features, the mirth in his eyes vaguely obscured by his goggles. "I wouldn't mind sharing 'my thing'."

"No," he said blatantly, leaning back so that he was sprawled out over the counter, dangling his head off the edge. His blonde tresses were splayed out over the lip of the counter, blood rushing to his head. Stupid, maybe, but it was a comfortable arrangement.

He held his chocolate bar aloft, watching it from all angles against the light before propping himself on one elbow and staring back at the male across the room.

"Besides, after now you're not going to touch a game. You're going to work on the fucking case."

Matt looked over to Mello, watching him arrange himself on the counter. Matt was going to have to remember to wash that once Mello was gone. He prepared their lunches on that thing; to hell if he was going to eat Mello's ass germs. He paused momentarily, proceeding to stare at Mello and watch him observe his candy bar—god. He was stuck working with the weirdest criminal out there. Shaking his head slightly, Matt brushed back a bit of his red hair, shrugging as Mello sternly told him that he would be working.

"All the more reason for you to play," Matt pointed out, working harder now to keep his game going. Matt could play a single game of pinball for hours. Good luck getting him to work. Although, he did suppose that Mello had been particularly generous today...he'd work hard once he hit game over. He swore.

The prospect of Matt having to clean the counter afterward was all the more reason for him to lay nonchalantly over the surface. It was funny, though Mello's sense of humor always had been different, if not insane altogether.

He brought the bar to his mouth and left it there for a long while, savoring the taste that his mouth had grown so used to. Chocolate was pretty much his livelihood, besides his goal of being the first to catch Kira. When that was over, maybe he would settle back down, do something constructive. Probably not.

"Hey, Matt," he chimed back in, averting the conversation to something more interesting. "What did you do before I came?"

Matt shrugged, supposing that Mello's reasoning was right. Maybe while he worked Mello could play pinball—although...somehow, Mello lounging on the couch and playing pinball wasn't exactly something that Matt found natural to picture. He took a draw from his bottle of Smirnoff, peering at it quizzically for a moment before setting it aside. He wasn't notorious for having a particularly high tolerance, what with his lithe frame and all, and didn't exactly think that Mello would stand for him working seriously on the case under the influence.

"What? Not too much. Breaking into the CIA and Parliament's databases for fun. I was designing a video game and a new console too, but I got bored of that..." Hell, he had designed and created his own handheld—that was good enough for him. "I guess you were running around after that Death Note thing?"

"I guess you could say that," Mello said, smirking slightly at Matt's confessions. He could have predicted that; the other was a computer nerd until the end. "Two kidnappings and some undercover shit. We got it...but that fucking Kira task force took it back. Not that I needed it, I guess. I just wanted a trophy."

He cursed under his breath. He hadn't meant to divulge his true meaning to get the Death Note. The other reason, of course, was to understand more about it, more even than his opponent. But still.

Matt caught Mello's quite cursing, unable to help himself but to smile just a little bit. A trophy, huh? He should have figured. Mello was always like that—he always had to be number one, and he always had to have something to prove it. At least, when he was around Matt, he was in a consistent 'number one' position, seeing as Matt was younger and had been ranked lower in Wammy's. Although, it probably wasn't too much of an accomplishment—Matt wasn't too competitive, even when it came to his beloved video games.

"Much more potent than me," he subtly teased the other. It was true—until Mello, Matt hadn't really been doing anything illegal.Aside from breaking into government top-security databases, but he didn't count that. That was recreation.

Mello managed a tiny laugh, one that originated in the back of his throat. The male sat up flattening his hair with one hand.

"You never really aspired for an exciting life, though, Matt," he pointed out, peeling down the candy wrapper. "You were destined to be boring." A pause. "Which is a damn shame, since you were third in line to succeed L. You're telling me you were never interested in doing that?"

To Mello, there was nothing more important than succeeding L. He was surprised at himself for giving it up so easily in the end. Maybe that was only because the shock of the original L's death had hit him harder than expected. And that damn Near wasn't even fazed. It made him sick.

Matt grinned and shook his head.

"Not at all."

He had probably explained his reasoning to Mello a thousand times over for the same reaction every time—being L meant no time for video games. It was as simple as that. Matt enjoyed rising to a challenge, but if that challenge all but eliminated his video game playing, he wasn't interested. He would have to say that he would like to preserve his sanity and allow himself an outlet, if he had to be fancy about it.

"I guess...I never really wanted anyone to have to succeed L either," Matt pointed out, giving his virtual pinball a good, hard, whack into a spiraling cycle. "You know? We kind of grew up with L as this...great figure that we never saw. He was kind of like the Game Master to me—I didn't think he could die. And then he did." Matt shrugged—his thoughts were a little deeper than relating L to the Game Master, but he wasn't really in a mood to discuss them.

However, it was a really interesting—and accurate—way to explain L's significance to Wammy's House. But for some reason, it pissed Mello off more than anything else Matt had said since the blonde had moved in. He leapt off the counter and stomped out of the kitchen.

"Fuck you, Matt," he hissed. He didn't have much to be mad about, and he really wasn't mad at Matt in particular. It was just...hearing the truth from someone else's mouth was much more painful than realizing it for yourself.

Matt shut up promptly—he didn't think that Mello would get so huffy about it. He continued playing his pinball game in silence for a second before pausing the game and heading in pursuit of the blonde.

"Mello," he stated too rationally, wondering if it was the fact that he was comparing their elusive idol to a video game term that made the other mad, or the fact that L was dead. "Sorry, all right? You don't have to freak out." Matt said—he might have had a more eloquent way to put it…but the red-haired male wasn't exactly the best at showing any sort of...compassion. There wasn't really any other word for his concern for Mello's feelings, vague as he would like to say it was.

Mello turned around swiftly, facing the other angrily as he nibbled profusely on his chocolate. His solace.

"Don't compare L to another one of your stupid video games," he growled. "Is that all you think of? Can't you do something more productive with your life? You're going to stay here forever, playing video games and the lackey when it suits your fancy. It's sad. You could do more than that, bastard."

He didn't mean to be so forward. It wasn't even the red head's fault, but there were some things that weren't spoken in Mello's presence without receiving a good in-your-face bitch session. This was one of those things.

"Oh come on," Matt started, slightly offended by Mello's chewing him out for his lack of ambition in life. Hell, he got by—he did whatever hotshot companies wanted for some damn good money, corrupted the stock markets, et cetera. It was good business for him. "I was a kid when I thought of that. Any five-year-old would compare their idol to the Game Master." The Game Master was like the god of a five-year-old gamer's brain. "What the hell's gotten into you? You can't be pissed at me for that."

Mello huffed, and then turned away again, not quite summoning the strength to walk away. Besides, he hadn't yelled at the other sufficiently yet. He wasn't leaving without blowing off some kind of steam, or else he would probably start shooting up the place when he went to confront Near.

"Shit," he said, breathing out this monosyllabic reply between gritted teeth and a tiny section of chocolate. "It doesn't matter. Just don't bring it up. I know you don't care, but others do."

And as for his using Matt's lack of goals; well, he used whatever he could. Even if it was stupid and negligible.

Matt grew slightly more offended at that. "Who said I didn't care?" He pointed out, knowing full well that his wording and analogy had made it seem like he didn't care about L's death, but that event had seriously rocked his world. L suddenly dying by the hands of Kira, their idol, suddenly gone with no one to replace him.

With Near and Mello in a battle of wits, L really had no true successor—not in Matt's eyes. In Matt's eyes, Near could go fuck himself because he was no where near capable of picking up where L left off. He lacked the drive, the audacity. And on top of all that...Mello had left the orphanage, leaving Matt stranded with not the faintest idea where his friend had disappeared off to. "You're just being a jackass, Mello."

"Just shut the fuck up, okay?" he said, his stomach twisting. He felt like puking, but wouldn't show that kind of physical emotion to Matt. Even if it didn't matter to the other, it mattered a hell of a lot to Mello. He had never liked wearing his heart on his sleeve, but apparently, it was what he did best. Near and L, hell, even Matt, had been so skilled at keeping themselves hidden when the occasion arose. He could never keep himself from exploding; the only thing he was proud of was not crying. He hadn't done so since his first years at the orphanage, and wouldn't do it in his late teens. That was just needless.

"Just shut the fuck up. Go play your games."

"I thought you said to go work on the fucking case," Matt stabbed, growing slightly heated himself now. Mello keeping whatever he could in, and then blowing up at Matt for whatever reason he couldn't exactly place was one of the things that really pissed the redhead off about Mello. He knew full well that the other was just an emotional bomb waiting to happen—but all he did was run around pissed all the time. He didn't ever show sadness, or happiness—_that_ was what Mello kept in that differentiated him from Matt. Matt might have always seemed like a cool-headed sort of guy, but he did let loose and have fun, he did mope, and he did, on occasion, get angry. That was what allowed him to reserve himself when the time called for it; it was something of an art.

Mello seethed.

"Whatever," he said, voice dangerously soft. He was about to go somewhere...but where, he didn't know. There was no way he was going to go to Hal's yet. That was just suicide in his mood. The moment Near said something derogatory, and his gun was out of the holster, he held a very high chance of getting shot by one of those godforsaken detectives he kept around. Well, they weren't really detectives, if you thought about it.

"Just don't."

Don't what had yet to be determined, but he doubted it took a genius to figure that out. And in Mello's anger-wracked mind, Matt was definitely not that.

Matt sighed—he was going to get no where with Mello.

"Fine," he answered simply, shrugging and turning on his heel to go back to the couch. Hell, Mello could go out and get himself killed and Matt wouldn't care right then. He'd care later. He dropped back onto the couch, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. The scent of cinnamon-flavoured nicotine lingered in the air around him as he resumed his pinball game. It was taking an unnecessarily violent turn as he jabbed at his laptop keys a little harder than needed.

"Jackass," he muttered under his breath, taking a deep inhale through his cigarette. "Just go get yourself shot already."

_You'd like that, wouldn't you?_

No, of course he wouldn't. Mello looked back at Matt, eyes grim. This was how it was, ever since Mello had moved in: They would get along just fine, until his sensitive nature kicked in, and they would be flinging cuss words at each other and thinking the very worst, even though they both knew that they would feel awful if either of them died. Well, Mello would, at least. It was his fault Matt was involved at all.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said dryly. "You wouldn't want me to get shot, would you?" For some reason, he was expecting a yes. He knew that wasn't the case...

Matt was vaguely surprised that the other even asked him—for one, he figured that Mello would know the answer. For another, he didn't think that Mello cared. He did, however, guess that there must be something perturbing about the one person who you might consider to be your 'friend' told you to go get shot.

"Yes," he stated all too seriously to be sarcasm, jabbing at the keyboard keys again before pausing the game once more. He turned to Mello, sighing smoke.

"No, dipshit. Of course not."

So he was being sarcastic after all. Hell, Matt would probably be devastated if Mello ended up getting killed. He wasn't going to say that, though—nor would he be probable to show it if it ever happened. It would be an inward, crushing kind of devastation.

A private Hell.

"Good," said Mello, with a note of finality, as though that had settled the entire matter. Okay, okay, he did care. Otherwise, he would have just left, indifferently, and come back in the all hours of the morning and demand to be let in. It wasn't like him to apologize, so he expected Matt to recognize that and take it as such. If he didn't, well, that would just be too damn bad. Holy hell was he proving difficult.

"Because I really am sorry, bastard. And I don't say that a lot." He stalked off, going into the room to find his hooded jacket. He had a feeling that he'd need it sometime later.

Honestly, Mello leaving in a huff was exactly what Matt had expected—and he felt somewhat...reassured that the other hadn't done so. A small smile cracked onto his expression, and he chuckled.

"I know," he told Mello, leaning back against the couch, fading back to neutrality again. "And if it helps," he called out to the blonde, seeing as he had promptly left the room, "I'm sorry too. I push your buttons like mad..." _It's fun._

He smiled to himself at the thought—he took it all quite lightly, but he was well aware that Mello didn't apologize to just anyone, and he felt vaguely privileged to have the blonde say it what...three times today? Or was the first time a thank you or something like that? Matt didn't know, but either way, it was rare. And besides that...Matt was sorry. It didn't mean that he wouldn't do it again though.

Matt chuckled at the notion, glad to see that they were treading that delicate patch between them again. Maybe one day, when they stopped being so stubborn, moody, and idiotic, things would be better and they'd be walking on solid ground. For now, though, this stop-and-go thing was working out. Kind of. Well enough. Matt decided that, in order to return some sort of courtesy, he'd set aside his pinball game for once and get to work. He slid off the couch and shifted sit in the center of his semi-circle of laptops and haunch over one of the screens, tapping diligently away at the keyboard.

"Don't eat your way through all of those on the first day now," he warned, seeing that those chocolate bars were going away pretty quickly.

Mello sighed, and as a response, merely opened the wrapper and shoved a rather big bite into his mouth. It was nice to oppositional; especially when he knew that he would be the only one getting any satisfaction from it. He debated on whether or not to go sit back on the counter, but let that ideation go to sit on the arm of the couch like a spoiled cat. It was quite a sight.

"I don't care if you're buying it," he said, acting like a spoiled child this time. "I'll eat as much as I please. Besides...it's like nicotine for me." Better to assimilate yourself with others to have them understand.

"I guess. It's not your money so you don't care...That makes sense."

Yeah, it was Matt's money...but Matt didn't really care. He didn't look, act, or seem at all like it, but he was a rich motherfucking bastard. His technological skills had gotten him far-- but his money-spending tactics were like anything else in his life: lazy. Matt took a purposeful draw from his cinnamon cigarette, exhaling a slow, almost taunting stream. "Point taken," he told the other with a little inward smile.

Again, Mello wrinkled his nose. Though chocolate was almost an addiction, it was no where near as disgusting as smoking. Smoking could get you killed. Chocolate could get you diabetes, but that was considerably less life-threatening than lung cancer. Oh, well. As long as the bastard didn't contaminate Mello's lungs with that putrid filth, he could kill himself in whatever way he wanted.

He could care less.

"It's not like you buy much, anyway," he pointed out. "I'm probably not even putting a dent in your wallet. How much does chocolate cost, anyway? Ten bucks for a week's supply? Dear, god. Don't be stingy."

Matt found himself smirking just slightly despite his usual resolve-- for some strange, unknown reason, he was finding Mello's conversation funny. "Just about. And no, you're not putting a dent in my wallet." He assured the other, although he was pretty certain that the blonde needed no reassurance. "Hey, I never once said I minded buying you chocolate," the red-haired youth countered, continuing to pull up various files. One day, he was going to hack the second L and see what he could come up with.. but not with Mello sitting around. That was like working under pressure.

"That's good," said Mello, laving at the candy in his hand with his eager mouth. "Because if there's one thing I'm going to keep buying, it's this."

He paused, and as an afterthought, added: "Maybe some new clothes."

Yes, he did care about his appearance. It was one thing he could control, especially his clothing. Besides, he liked to dress like he did, no matter how much attention it drew to himself. Lately, he didn't buy clothes. How could he? There was a case to work on, and shopping for clothing would just kill his work ethic.

Matt looked over to Mello's outfit for today and saw the familiar black leather. He highly doubted that Mello would get anything too different than what he'd been getting, but hey. Going shopping with Mello might actually be somewhat amusing. It wasn't like Matt was going to let Mello run around with his credit card, after all. Who knew what other things he might want to buy?

"Clothes and chocolate. Interesting," Matt commented, seeing as somehow, it suited Mello—but didn't at the same time. Not from the surface, but since Matt knew Mello well enough, it was plausible. Matt was just always buying electronic parts, new video games, and new consoles. He had everything from the Nintendo 64 to the Nintendo Wii. This, of course, was only to be expected.

"So hurry up, catch Kira before Near does, and then we'll go shopping," he snorted. Interesting indeed.

"Oh, yeah," he said, reclining as he laughed. "And risk looking gay? D'you know it would look like if we went clothes shopping together?"

He started laughing again. Regardless, it would be interesting. And if he wanted new clothes, odds were he'd have to go buy them with Matt. Which, though amusing, didn't sound too appealing.

"But I really do want new clothes."

Not a typical thing for Mello to yearn for, since he pretty much had clothes already. Well, charred ones, and the new ones he had gotten just after the hideout exploded.

This was true. They _would_ look fairly gay in the event of them going shopping together. "We look pretty gay already," Matt pointed out upon coming to that realization. For one, they were living together—and for another, Matt would like to think that the pair of them had a rather acute sense of style. That might have just been his ego speaking, though. "See? Just go and beat Near already and we'll go shopping and you can get all the new clothes you want." He teased, knowing full well that Mello's desire for clothes was almost as rare as his remorse. Well, not quite, but it was close enough.

Mello paused. He had never considered them as looking gay. Stupid, maybe. Out of place, for sure. But never gay. He would've gotten pissed over it, but decided to restrain himself.

"Don't push me," he said, in a reasonably okay mood. "I'll beat Near." There was an even longer pause this time. He figured it would be pretty necessary to add: "...eventually."

It killed him to admit it, but they weren't making much of a progression. But what could they do? Near had so many more resources. It was almost sad. He had a team of detectives and technology at his disposal, to do with what he wished, and Mello had a couple of laptops and a friend who could probably not give a shit.

Matt held back any amusement to avoid pissing Mello off again—he wasn't breaking anything yet, and Matt would like to protect his precious laptops.

"Hell, I'll hack the SPK if you want me to, Matt offered, figuring that he could do it. Near had most likely taken precautions against Matt's skills, but Near didn't know exactly what Matt could do. Even if Near figured that Mello would turn to an old companion from Wammy's, Matt might just be able to get through his security. "We might get something then."

"Like what?" inquired Mello. "Near's mentality would make an attempt like that futile. We'd end up finding out more or less what we already know. He'll have everything premeditated. Hacking will be our last resort."

And it most certainly would be. Near probably expected an attack like that, and if he didn't, Mello would be insanely surprised. Matt was kind enough to offer, and it would probably be no sweat off his back if they did hack into the SPK, but they had to bide their time. He didn't want to take from Near, he wanted the younger one to be used in exactly the way he was trying to use the blonde. It infuriated him, the ease in which he did so.

Matt shrugged, knowing that Mello was right. There really wasn't anything that they could do with that. He set aside some news video feeds for later, not in the mood to look at them right at the moment.

"Turning the tables on Near will be rather difficult," he commented off-handedly, scanning through any possible scenarios that it would happen, but his logical mind shut most of them down. Matt and Mello had always been better at that kind of thing anyways—Matt had his technological smarts and he could work at a situation backwards and sort out the roots and possibilities, but he never liked dreaming up scenarios and barring them, like in a chess game. Matt had never liked chess.

Near and Mello had always been better.

"Not as hard as you might think," Mello countered. He, on the other hand, had several scenarios, though he had kept in mind only the ones that ended in victory. He intended to beat Near one way or another, even if he died in the process. Though he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"We have a couple things he doesn't have. For one, we have drive. Well, I do. I doubt he wants to beat me as bad as I do him." Okay, maybe that didn't count for much, but he liked to believe that it did. "And Kira doesn't know that you exist. He knows I do, but he doesn't know where I am. Near is in direct contact with who he believes to be Kira." Mello smirked. "He's just setting himself up."

Matt shrugged. He had figured that his nonexistence might help in some way, but the role of a technologically smart comrade wasn't exactly hard to fill, not with Mello's credibility. But he supposed that it was minor enough to be overlooked, if Mello was taking it into consideration.

"Kind of like L." He murmured thoughtfully—L had worked with his prime suspect in order to gain headway on the case...and then he'd died. Keeping close contact with Kira opened doors to let death in, Matt supposed. He buried himself in his computer work—this technology business was a lot simpler. It was like a giant puzzle that didn't require too much logic—Matt was too lazy to use the logic skills that he had.

"All right. I'll trust you."

"Not that you have any choice," snorted Mello. Okay, he did, but he doubted that Matt would kick him out any time soon. Not the way things were, even though he still couldn't figure out why the redhead was letting him stay, anyway. God knew that Mello didn't deserve it. It wasn't as though he was going to mention it, though. Maybe if he did, he would knock some sense into the other's head...and maybe he would really kick him out. He didn't even know why it bothered him so much, since he could probably live anywhere he wanted in this city.

Mello sighed inwardly, not daring to externally display his exasperation. Well, it wasn't really exasperation; it was more like a resigned understanding that they'd probably go back and forth like this until one of them snapped, which they could do at any moment. Still, it was their flighty attitudes that kept them in the same apartment for so long. If they didn't have a love-hate relationship of sorts, Mello probably would have had his ass kicked out a long time ago.

"Even if you did, I probably wouldn't leave," admitted the blonde, closing his eyes. They stung at the feeling of lids sliding over near-bloodshot pupils.

Matt considered this for a moment and came to the conclusion that Mello was absolutely right. He wouldn't leave.

"And then I wouldn't do anything about it," he responded, shrugging a little. That part was true too. He probably wouldn't do anything about it. "I might ignore you for a bit, but that's pretty common anyway."

Matt continued, shrugging and leaning back against the front of the couch as he waited for a few files to download.

"So really, there's no threat," said the older male with a little more than mild satisfaction. He could work Matt like a dog, and all the red head could do was refuse to do it. Which didn't really matter; Mello had originally planned to do all of this on his own, anyway. Matt was only an added bonus. Not that he wasn't thankful for his presence. Tons of his plans could not have been possible without the hacker's skills.

"I could do what I wanted, at no consequence to myself."

"Well, I would play video games all the time and that might be a little setback," he offered. He knew that he was expendable—as earlier stated, the role of a technician wasn't exactly hard to fill...but he would bet that he was the most efficient one out there, not to mention, he didn't ask for payment or anything like that. "And I probably wouldn't buy you chocolate, so you'd have to spend your own money," he added as he leaned back to the laptop in front of him, pulling the files up and scanning through them.

"That's true," Mello acknowledged. It was, though he didn't think it would be very hard to buy chocolate on his own, not to mention that he could probably steal from whatever money Matt had lying around and merely deny it. Even if he did hate him for that, he supposed that Matt wasn't what he was here for...wasn't he?

He wandered about the living room for a minute, for no credible purpose, then returned to the couch and sat purposefully on it. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep. He was restless, but he couldn't go anywhere. It was killing him.

Matt paused in his work to look over to Mello, arching a brow at the other's behavior. "Something up?" He questioned, leaning back against the front of the couch again. He eyed the blonde for a moment before off-handedly moving a hand to fiddle with his goggles. He ended up taking them off to mess with the straps and idly clean the lenses with the end of his shirt. Stalling.

He stopped pacing, patting down his golden bangs and inclining his head to glare at the other between slitted eyes.

"Waiting," he said gruffly. "For tonight...It makes me kinda nervous, to tell the honest to god truth." Even he had to confess himself sometimes, because keeping it inside was fatal, to both him and Matt. Mello flexed his fingers, watching the leather gloves creak over slender fingers. He didn't know why he hadn't taken them off yet, but they made him feel enclosed. In a good way.

Matt nodded his understanding, sliding his goggles over his head before pulling them up to his eyes again. He adjusted them promptly, but failed to return to his work. His attention span was far too short to work for prolonged periods of time—most videogames didn't even hold his attention for too long. Pinball was the only thing he could stay focused on for more than an hour. Everything else had to be switched around and rotated if he hoped to keep still.

"Well, as long as you don't shoot everyone, I think you'll be okay."

Mello laughed hollowly.

"I can't guarantee that," he said. "That little bastard knows exactly what to say to stir me up."

He paused, as if in entranced thought, then went to the opposite wall and leaned against it, only to slide down to the floor and sit squarely. His eyes closed slowly again, then fluttered open. This process repeated several times, to keep himself in a sound mind. Maybe later he'd fix some coffee. Chocolate just didn't seem to provide the sugar high it used to.

"Then again, you do too."

The red-head watched his companion curiously as he wandered to the opposite side of the room and slid down into a sitting position. For a moment, he wondered of Mello was falling asleep. The idea was strangely practical—if Mello was going to fall asleep anywhere, why not sitting up against a wall? Somehow, Matt couldn't picture Mello curling up and going to bed anywhere. He stirred out of his thoughts and cracked something of a smirk when Mello compared his button-pushing skills to Near. "Shucks." He smirked a little more before finally going back to his work—but only for a couple seconds. "You're too kind."

"Mhmm," Mello grunted as a half reply, getting up again. He couldn't just sit here; it was like waiting for his doom. Getting up to pull on his hooded jacket and snatch another chocolate bar to shove in his pocket, the blonde decided that the best way to get through this would be to go out before the time came and...prepare. He had a few ideas on how to do that, namely making his usual dealings. He wasn't just going in without bartering first. He probably had information that Near wanted, and in exchange for that information, he would get his picture back.

It was an almost flawless plan, though it couldn't hurt to have some persuasion. The male stomped to the front door, mentally formulating several different scenario possibilities. Most ended well, though a fair fraction ended in either capture, failure, or a bullet in his head. Brilliant.

Matt glanced up, having been drifting off in thoughts of playing pinball, or whipping out his handheld again.

"Going out early?" he questioned Mello, although it was obvious that the other was doing so. Hell, Matt didn't know. Mello could get ready and wander around the apartment fully dressed and fully loaded for the next hour if he really wanted to. It seemed like something an anxious Mello would do. Without waiting for a reply, Matt leaned back over his laptop and attempted to further his working process.

"Good luck," he offered, although it was more of a well-wishing goodbye than anything else.

He let out a prolonged exhalation before turning the cold doorknob underneath his fingertips and deeming Matt's well-wishes as worthy of a reply. He opened the door and reached under his jacket to place a hand on the handle of his weapon. It made him feel safer, to say the least.

"Thanks," Mello murmured. And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him in anxious irritation and stalking away.

His footsteps faded after awhile.


	4. Chapter 4

**yon.**

As the night steadily grew darker, and time elapsed far quicker than Matt would have liked for it to, the redhead discovered that the galaxies were working against him. The wee hours of the morning were fast approaching, but his rate was slowing and he still had much to do to satisfy himself—and more importantly, to satisfy Mello. Even though Matt's own, self-set standards were high, the blonde's were even higher, and Matt didn't want to upset him any time soon after he returned from Near's. Matt would bet one hell of a shiny quarter that Mello would not be in the best spirits when he came back, picture or no.

Juggling the tasks of worrying if Mello had a bullet planted in his skull or not, working on the case, and beating a rather difficult level of his own game, Matt fought off the lull of sleep. Honestly, he was starting to wonder what happened to his years of staying up until the sun started to rise—those days would have been damn useful around now. Lately, Matt just liked to sleep. As things were, though, he had to stay up to open the door for Mello, at the very least.

Matt was perfectly right to assume that Mello would be in no mood. His footsteps were heavy and menacing, as far as footsteps could, and his mind was racing. It was just after his meeting with Near...and although he had retrieved his picture successfully, a couple of things hadn't gone so smoothly.

Like his back and forth with Near. He was only reminded of the fact that even though he was working his ass off to discover Kira, and had found out more than even the younger one had, not to mention that he had been generous enough to share that knowledge, he was still being used.

He didn't outwardly display this the whole time, except of course for when he pulled his gun out. He didn't use it, though, knowing that he would be killed if he did. Dammit. Dammit to fucking hell...he couldn't do a thing. It pissed him off so much. And now, Matt would probably receive the full effects of his anger.

Mello banged on the apartment door, probably assuaging any worries that the blonde had been killed, or worse. Gloved hands muffled the impact; otherwise, he may have coaxed some blood from his knuckles.

Matt jumped, having been dozing during the time that Mello had been storming his way to the apartment. Even the other's footsteps hadn't broken the monotony of his stupor.

"Coming," he called to the door to assure the blonde that he was getting up promptly. He pulled the door open and stepped aside to let the angry Mello in, preparing himself for any repercussions that the other wasn't able to express back in the SPK headquarters. ... Matt was preparing himself for a lot.

"Get the picture?" he questioned as he closed the door, making a stab at civil conversation in hopes of staving off Mello's probable outburst.

Mello reached into his jacket and shoved the photo Matt's direction, palm colliding with the other's chest. He probably didn't want the picture per say, but the older didn't give a damn. He wanted that thing out of his sight, and would probably burn it later on. In fact, that was a given. Keeping it around would only increase its chances of it getting lost again.

"I got the fucking thing," he snapped, throwing off his jacket and fleeing to the kitchen to retrieve some chocolate. Something...anything to calm him down, though he doubted that was going to happen. There were some things even chocolate couldn't fix, believe it or not.

Matt pinned the photo to keep it from falling, pulling it away from him and peering at it quizzically. He hadn't actually ever seen this infamous picture—he hadn't actually ever seen a picture of Mello. Then again, Mello hadn't ever seen a picture of Matt either, not to Matt's knowledge. Pictures of Wammy's orphans were pretty hard to come by.

"I see," Matt commented blandly as he set the picture down on the kitchen counter. He was supposing that the meeting didn't go well at all, but even he wouldn't point out the obvious in a situation like this. "What happened?" he asked instead, although he hardly doubted that this would be any better.

Acting his usual drama queen self when it came to things like this, Mello ripped open the chocolate and shot Matt a venomous look. He wanted to kill someone about now, and if it was any other situation, he could've done it with no problem. It wasn't unheard of for him to sporadically dispose of people. But that was then. This was now. Things weren't the same, and he had to find a different outlet for his ubiquitous anger.

"What the fuck does it matter?" he shouted, a little louder than intended. His mind was engulfed in a warmth only placed by the boiling heat that was rising in his gut. He cleared everything from the couch and sat on it simply, seething as he did so.

Matt backed off at the look that the blonde shot at him—it was one of those 'if looks could kill' sort of moments, and Matt wasn't really going to push Mello's buttons quite yet. If Mello 'sporadically disposed' of Matt, the difference might be that he would actually regret it. One, Matt was useful, and two, Matt would like to think that he wasn't just a lackey that could be executed at the drop of a hat. At Mello's outburst, though, he put his hands up in mock surrender, raising his shoulders in a half shrug.

"Just asking," he insisted, heading back to sit on the opposite end of the couch from Mello, keeping his distance. He didn't want to get too close; he was...respecting Mello's personal space. Actually, Matt just didn't want to get himself killed.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he said, the boiling anger seemingly fizzling out. That would be only temporary, of course. Mello stood up, again not able to sit in one place for very long in fear of having that restlessness build up inside him again. He stomped away, resolving to go to bed soon.

But not yet. The blonde whipped around and stared at Matt. He didn't know what he was expecting. He didn't know what he wanted from the bastard...he was just, so pissed off. Mello glared on, just daring the other to say something. After awhile, he broke his gaze. What the hell...

Matt had shut up, letting Mello alone in hopes that his anger would completely die away. However, he didn't really think that it would—Mello wasn't exactly the 'just calm down' kind of guy. He was more likely to find some way to blow off the steam and then be back to his usual, grouchy self.

He arched a brow at Mello when he abruptly whirled around and stared him down, giving the other a quizzical sort of look.

"What was that?" he questioned when Mello had finally looked away. He'd caught something of a challenge in that gaze, but he wasn't exactly dumb enough to take up on that right away. Who knew what kind of trouble that could get him into while Mello was being like this?

Now, Mello was doing what he did best: challenging whoever happened to be present to blow off his anger. Matt was always the only one there, so he usually got the majority of his anger. The blonde gritted his teeth before beginning his merciless verbal attack.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Probably nothing, but this was a tactic Mello used often to trick himself into thinking it was everyone else's fault.

"There are serious things going on. A serial killer...my picture...people are dying, and you don't give a shit?"

He was thinking of poor excuses. Poor ones, indeed, but he couldn't summon up any other insult on the other's existence. Nonchalance was as close as he could get.

"And you're telling me you give a shit about people dying?" Matt challenged, rising to this one. He would deal with Mello's anger for a while, he could put up with the other shooting off snide comments, but Mello picking at him just to do something—that was what Matt absolutely hated and would not stand for. This was the thing that pissed him off the most about Mello.

"I really don't think you care. Hell, I really don't think you care that I don't care," Matt pointed out. "Kira's crazy, maybe we'll catch him, maybe Near will. But these things usually get solved without my worrying—worrying and being emotional like you are is fucking stupid. That's why L was good at this—he could get at the problem without being stupid."

Matt jabbed, finally expressing a belief or two of his on this whole matter. Normally, he kept his opinions to himself to keep Mello from having too many things to get on him about. If the blonde just thought that he was being indifferent, that was fine. But if Matt started giving things for him to analyze, he might just find something really wrong with the redhead. Matt didn't want to deal with real problems.

If there ever was a conniption in Mello's world, this would be it. His eyes widened at this; the one thing he hated most was being compared to others...whether it be Near or L, though in this case, it was his late idol. He began to shake. If he was capable of such things as tears, maybe he would have cried to release his pent up anger. But he didn't.

"You son of a bitch," he announced, probably overreacting more than he should have. He instigated the conversation, after all. "So is that what I am? Stupid? Then what does that make you?"

His hand fled to his hip, knuckles colliding with the familiar sensation of cold metal. He drew his gun, not really intending to use it, but who knew when Mello got in a mood...

The barrel pointed Matt's direction, aimed with frightening accuracy.

"Pretty stupid too," Matt managed to get out before he froze at seeing Mello's hand drop down to his weapon. Matt silently swore at not keeping a gun on him as well—it wasn't like he would actually ever shoot Mello under any circumstances, but he would have felt a lot better if he had a gun lowered at the other too, instead of just standing there like an idiot frozen in time.

"Mello," Matt stated with far too much rationality in his voice. "I just said that you being overemotional like this is stupid. Not you," the redhead attempted to reason, although he wasn't sure if his reasoning would be much better than the statement that Mello had interpreted.

"Do you get it? Do you think L would point a gun at someone he's working with? I don't think so. I'm just saying," Matt added, hoping—but dreading otherwise—that it would help his predicament. It wasn't likely.

No, that reasoning only pushed Mello further over the edge. He cocked his gun, taking a challenging step forward.

"You're..." He had several different accusations in mind: one, you're thinking less of me, and you're my friend, you're not supposed to, and two, you're comparing me to L, I'm not L, goddammit. The rest fled his mind in a rush, and he didn't know what he was doing anymore. He wasn't mad at Matt. He wasn't supposed to be pointing a gun at his best friend, but these things just happened, and he was ready to explode at any moment. Maybe scream a bit.

But that wasn't like Mello; it was shoot or think less of yourself, and the latter was unacceptable.

So he pulled the trigger.

When Mello took a step forward, fuck—when Mello just cocked his gun, Matt might have moved back if he wasn't sitting down. But as the case was, he just kept his gaze on Mello. Maybe he was thinking that if he kept his eyes trained on Mello's, the other would come to his senses and back down. Inevitably, his plan didn't work.

The last thing that Matt expected Mello to do, though, was actually pull the trigger.

For a second, shock flashed over his features as he felt near instantaneous pain and his body pushing back against the couch as the bullet sunk into his chest, just underneath the left side of his collarbone. Seconds later, Matt was doubled over in pain, gasping something that sounded vaguely like an extremely broken up 'Mello, what the fuck'. He shot a hand down to brace himself against the couch, his hand sliding on blood and leather and sinking into a crack between the cushions.

"M-Mello!"

It was hard to tell if this was disbelief, or a rather slow shock.

He just stood there for the longest time. He couldn't hear Matt, really. Nor did he hear the gunshot when the trigger was pulled. He heard the quickened beating of his own heart, and that was about it. And then...then those thoughts swam through his head.

_Mello, you fucking idiot..._his subconscious screamed. _You just shot him. FUCK!_

The blonde dropped the gun, and ran over to his friend's side. He snatched him by the shoulders.

Oh, god.

Matt was going to die.

"Matt."

He hoisted him up. Something...he needed something to stem the bleeding...something...He ran to the kitchen, snatching a washcloth and a roll of paper towels.

He had so much experience with bullet wounds, but right now all he could think of was Bounty brand towels and a cotton cloth to nurse the wound.

Behind his goggles, Matt's pupils were black disks with a faint ring of colour around them. In a couple seconds, his breathing quickened and his skin grew cold and slightly clammy to the touch. He hardly moved when Mello hoisted him up, instead, allowing the other to move him however he so desired. Something clicked as strange to him, though, when Mello came back with a washcloth and Bounty paper towels. It might have been humorous if it wasn't Matt.

"Y-you...shot me," Matt muttered under his breath, seeming more confused about the whole matter than anything else. He stared off to some point a few inches away from the tip of his nose instead of looking at Mello, his trembling fingers raised to the bleeding wound. With the shot being so close to his heart, the wound was bleeding profusely and quickly soaked his front, despite Mello's efforts. It seemed to slow just slightly with the added pressure, though, but there was no guaranteeing that it would really help.

"Y-...you...th—the fuck...th..." Matt blinked heavily, either trying to gather his train of thought, or fight away unconsciousness. Either way, it wasn't really working.

"Shut up," Mello said softly, eyes still wide as he cleaned out the paper towel roll and applied pressure to the wound. He felt like shit...like major shit. He didn't expect to actually pull the trigger. It was all just a vague blur, though he knew it had happened. If it hadn't, Matt wouldn't have been bleeding all over the place at the moment.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

"I have to get the bullet out," he said. "It'll hurt, a lot..."

Mello pulled away the towel and put his fingers on the wound, gingerly reaching into it to find the metal. Which he did.

"Okay."

He attempted to slide it out.

Matt shut up on request, although the chances were that he'd end up talking again. Matt hadn't ever been very good at sitting still when requested, and at the moment, he felt peculiarly anxious. His shaking fingers drummed against his thigh, the fingers making contact with warm, wet fabric. He found it hard to pay attention to Mello and thusly was caught pretty off-guard by his leather-clad fingers slipping into his wound. He yelped with the sudden stab of pain joining the onslaught that was already there, his fingers reflexively curling tight into his palms. He gritted his teeth and sucked his breath in, more out of instinct than Matt bracing himself, his shoulders hunching slightly as the result.

"Fuck—" he heaved, his breath exiting in a wheeze. "Fuck—fuck—"

"Shut up," he hissed again more forcefully, letting the bullet slide easily from its brief sheath. But with it came more blood, and as soon as the bullet cleared his skin, Mello had to apply even more pressure on the wound. He had never been more scared for someone else in his life, not even himself. It was stupid. He wanted to shoot himself now, after all he had done...it was his fault. All his fault; and it wasn't every day Mello admitted that he was to blame. He began to cuss himself out silently again.

"You're going to have to get up, Matt," he said, his anger completely gone. Besides the anger directed toward himself, of course.

Matt shut up—he was coming somewhat to his senses now, and was at least attempting to cooperate with Mello. His head was still obviously quite frazzled, and he felt completely nauseous from the sudden plummet of the blood and oxygen levels in his body. He swore loudly again when the bullet came free and Mello reapplied hard pressure to his chest, clenching his fists tighter. An unreasonable dread filled him at the notion of getting up, the thought making him even more nauseous than he had been. He really, really didn't want to get up.

"Wh—" He stopped midway, remembering Mello's instructions not to speak. He was buzzing with unanswered questions, but kept them to himself—for the time being.

"Fine," he stated instead, the word coming out breathily and followed by a sharp inhale. Matt made to say something else, but either decided against it, or failed. Words seemed to be obsolete at this point—it was dawning on Matt that he could damn well die right then. Well fuck.

Mello heaved the other up under his arms, and tried to get him on his feet. He wasn't as heavy as the blonde would have guessed, but was still enough to cause a slight problem in the lifting stage. Once he had gotten him at least part-way in a standing position, he draped one arm around his waist and used the other to keep a firm compress on his bullet wound. Staggering slightly, he began to make his way toward the bedroom. It seemed most logical, he supposed...but then again, his logic was currently failing him. There were clothes in the bedroom after all, and those could be used as wraps. Or something.

He reached the threshold with difficulty, limping onward to help the other to the bed. Shit. This was hard. But all he wanted was for the other to sit down, so he could divest him of his shirt and use the bloodstained thing to dress the wound. Which he did, setting him lightly and attempting to peel the wet, warm cloth up and over Matt's head.

Although Mello had exerted far more effort in the task of getting Matt to stand up, the red-haired male was panting by the time Mello got his arm around his waist. He fought to stay on his feet and not pull the pair of them off-balance, finding Mello's weight a good help in supporting what part of him that didn't want to remain upright.

He teetered to the bedroom with Mello, his arm tightly wrapped around Mello's shoulders in an effort to hold up his weight. It was an effort that was failing fast and thusly made Matt quite grateful to feel the bed beneath him. It took him a slow few seconds to realize what Mello was doing and attempt to maneuver out of his striped shirt, the clothing pulling away with slight difficulty. The wound, placed nearly parallel to the side of his shoulder, was near circular with a small laceration off to the right side. Matt—quite the idiot—looked down at it momentarily, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply.

"Remi—not...not doing that again..." he uttered, falling forward and managing to prop himself up with a hand against his leg.

"Stop it," commanded Mello, taking the shirt and wrapping it twice around his chest, feeling quite triumphant that they had made it this far without Matt either dying or passing out. He glared at his handiwork, knowing that it wouldn't sustain the wounded one for long, and that some kind of medical attention would be required, whether it was homemade or the blonde had to go to the one place he would never dream of, not even when his entire side was nearly singed off: the hospital.

"Lie down, idiot," he said. Bed rest was all he could think of at the moment, until he got some kind of infection prevention.

Matt, once more, closed his mouth. It seemed like Mello's repetitive command wasn't really going to have an overall effect—more like a stalling sort of one. He kept still as Mello used his shirt as a makeshift wrap, not really focusing on that, but rather, breathing and staying awake. Matt was still finding it incredibly hard to draw breath in and push it back out—he'd never really given respiration a second thought, but right about then, he felt like he'd been taking the ease of it for granted all his life. Also, he had a good feeling that falling asleep would be a very bad idea. He was attempting to stave that off as best as he could—both he and Mello had his best interest at heart here, seeing as his best interest would be staying alive. Sleep did not promise that reward.

However adamant against the idea of passing out, Matt was much obliged to be offered the option of lying down. He made to ease himself onto his back, but ended up falling most of the way.

"Mello..." he muttered, swallowing the rest of his words with his shallow breathing before resigning to that.

Mello was still panicked. He looked around for a minute, his own breath quickening. He was so...so...stupid...

He looked back at Matt helplessly. What was he supposed to do? Lug him to the hospital? Run off to the drug store, only to return and find him dead? Shit.

"I have to go to the store..." he said dryly. His voice wasn't his own. "Unless you have some first aid stuff here or something. I need to disinfect the wound."

He was surprised at how rationally he spoke. It was amazing how even his tone was, despite the fact that his insides were screaming. He didn't even know if Matt could answer him in his state. Crap, damn, shit, fuck.

Matt was slow to respond, still too gathered in his attempts to remain conscious and breathing. He could hear his pulse thundering in his head as though it was working with him to remain awake here, but it would fade and falter, thus driving him more mad than actually aiding him.

"B-bathroom," he wheezed lethargically, swearing that his heart jumped when Mello told him he had to go to the store. To Hell if Mello left him—Matt would kill his companion if the blonde did that. His eyes stared, unfocused, at the ceiling momentarily before dropping to Mello. It took Matt a couple seconds to see the other clearly, but when he did, the notion was useless. He couldn't tell if Mello was as calm as he sounded, or concerned, or what. He didn't even know why he cared, but for some reason, it seemed to ring a vaguely important bell in the back of his head. It was worth a shot, whatever it was. Eventually, Matt closed his tired eyes and gave up on the matter of Mello's state.

"Top... top shelf."

Mello almost jumped at this. Okay, so that had some supplies on hand. That was definitely good.

"Just...stay awake," he demanded, knowing that that wouldn't help much. Not at all, really, but he was desperate for the other to remain conscious. If he died, he'd never let himself forget it. Matt's life suddenly took priority over the Kira case...and Near. He ran to the bathroom, hurriedly opening and closing cabinets, all the while letting forth a string of curse words. Once he finally found the first aid kit, which was hidden cleverly under a stack of toilet paper and used toothbrushes (for which Mello had no idea why they were there), he scurried back into the room, unwrapping the shirt again and beginning to douse the enflamed spot with disinfectant.

That meant a shitload of Neosporin and hydrogen peroxide.

Matt would swear that he responded to Mello's demand to stay awake, although honestly, he hardly raised a finger. He was just resting. Really. Eventually, though, his common sense got the better of him—or maybe that was the disinfecting. Matt's eyes snapped open and he hissed in pain—he wasn't sure if the disinfectant actually stung, or if it was just the cloth leaving the wound and some foreign substance making contact. He'd had ample time to attempt to doze while Mello was gone, and now seemed more distant than ever. He was still clearly alive, though, that evident by his slow, gasping breaths. He opened his mouth to say something—but then realized that he had nothing to say. This in itself was a rarity, even considering the situation. Mildly deterred, Matt looked to Mello again, squinting at him strangely.

"Smells funny," he murmured, the words lost somewhere near the halfway point of their journey.

Mello began to laugh hollowly. It was probably not because he found this particular statement funny, but because he was damn glad that Matt was alive enough to say something, even something as trivial as that.

"Yeah," he assented, not really bothering to affirm what he was agreeing to. That didn't matter. He finished disinfecting the wound, extremely glad that it had stopped bleeding so profusely. He went to the dresser, pulling out a fresh shirt. He didn't give a shit that it was another one of the redhead's clean shirts. He could get new ones.

"What're you...what're you laughing about...?" He questioned a couple minutes too late, flickering his eyes open to half-slits to look at Mello.

Matt seemed to catch on that the threat of bleeding to death was fading, and therefore relaxed. Either that, or he was slipping off into Lala Land. Either was probable. He didn't protest to Mello's taking a new shirt to ruin-- ordinarily he would, but under the circumstances, he didn't feel up to protesting too much.

Matt ordinarily would have pressed for an answer, but at the time being, he merely did something akin to a shrug and mumbled incoherently under his breath. He closed his eyes again, wanting to roll onto his side to get comfortable but figuring that it wasn't exactly a good idea. Instead, he turned his head slightly and let his cheek half-rest against the pillow. Now that the adrenaline was fading away, Matt was starting to realize exactly how much his chest hurt. It hurt a hell of a lot before, but now it positively burned against the aching.

"Fuck, fuck, Mello." He muttered, expressing his discomfort.

Matt was complaining.

"Shut the fuck up Matt," he snapped for a third time, losing his patience. It was all his fault, and now he was reminding him of that. "Quit your complaining. You're alive, right? So shut the fuck up..."

He felt bad, and so, he would probably yell about something or another. Or leave for awhile once the redhead got better. At one point, he was actually considering suicide, but he figured he wasn't that upset. He stomped away. Fine. Matt could take care of himself now…

Now that Mello was being a bitch again, Matt groaned and muttered something profane, shifting uncomfortably on the bed as Mello stomped away. It couldn't be helped. It wasn't like Matt was going to get up and go find the other. Eventually, he might just do that if he got bored of his own company, but at the moment, he was fairly contented with just dozing off. Despite his tire, though, he was finding that he was having a difficult time falling asleep. Whether that worked to his benefit or not, he wasn't exactly sure.

Eventually, however, Mello came back.

How could he not? Drowning your sorrows in chocolate could only do so much, and with no developments in the Kira case, guilt consumed his idle mind. He returned with an unfathomable expression on his face, something akin to discomfort lurking behind topaz eyes. There was a pause, in which the blonde mulled over what he was supposed to say. There wasn't much you could say to someone you just shot, especially when that person was now half-asleep on the bed, covered in dry blood.

"Sorry," he said. Lame. That didn't compensate much for what he did.

Matt slowly opened his eyes again and turned his head so that he could see Mello. Matt laughed, immediately flinching. Unfazed, though, he just continued to give a faint smile.

"I've heard that…what... twice today? Must be a world record..." Matt joked, forcing himself up into a sleeping position. He grunted and wheezed slightly, leaning back against the wall with a relieved exhale.

Matt was never notorious for sitting still too long.


	5. Chapter 5

**go.**

Matt was, at this point, back to his old self. It was relieving, to say the least; it made him think that Matt had gotten over the whole 'on the brink of dying thing'. Which he probably was.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "It's just...I didn't mean to shoot you, okay? It would've been..." It would've been what? Devastating? Devastating if the gamer had died? Of course he wasn't going to say that. Instead, he let himself trail off into another train of thought.

"Do you need anything?"

Even with the wound in his chest throbbing and burning and biting and all around demanding his attention, Matt was still drifting off. It was obvious, though, that he wasn't going to fall asleep any time soon.

"Hmn?"

He arched a brow and peered at the other, taking a moment to register his words. It would have been what…? Matt brushed the thought off for the new question—he could go for a smoke but didn't really want to deal with the effort. A violent stab of pain ran through his chest as he shifted again. Deciding what he wanted, he stated blandly: "A pain killer would be nice."

"Oh, okay," he said, using monosyllables to their full extent. Mello rifled through the first aid kit, finding the best thing he could: Tylenol samples. He popped out at least three of them, and went to the kitchen for water. Shit. There wasn't any, besides the tap water, and the tap in the city was...less than favorable. Hissing, the male searched the refrigerator, pulling out a jug of juice that hadn't quite expired and poured the glass half-way full.

The blonde returned to the room and stood at the foot of the bed.

"Do you need help taking this?" he asked weakly.

Matt mentally chided himself for not keeping something stronger around—but then again, he hadn't ever really expected to get shot. He groaned quietly in Mello's absence, exhaling slowly. This hurt. This really fucking hurt. He wasn't going to say anything, though—not as much as he would have liked, anyway. He knew it would make Mello feel worse, and knowing the blonde, Matt figured that he was beating himself up over shooting his friend. Matt wasn't going deny it though—Mello seriously needed to learn to control his temper a little bit more. Matt shook his head at the other's weak offer of help. This was awkward enough already, he wasn't going to make it any worse.

"I'm fine…thanks."

"If you need anything..."

His voice was probably the most devoid of emotion it had ever been, mostly because if he did reflect everything that was going on inside, he would probably end up either screaming or laughing insanely. Opposite ends of the spectrum, indeed. He handed over the cup and the pills. He frowned, leaning back and pacing away again. A thought struck him.

"Should I go and get you some more painkillers?" he asked. Mello hated going out for things like that, things that would expose him...although usually he didn't care. Now, he felt like he was mortal again. Seeing Matt like this, it just made him realize how it was so easy for him to just die. It kind of scared him, but he wouldn't let the redhead just sit here in pain.

Matt nodded, taking the pills and cup from Mello and quickly downing them and setting the cup onto the bedside table. The small actions took a little more effort that he really would have liked to think, and the motion of his left arm hurt like a bitch, but he merely pursed his lips together. He shook his head at Mello's offer of going out to get something stronger—as much as he didn't want to sit there with his chest throbbing like hell, he didn't want Mello to leave him. It was sort of childish, but he really, really didn't want the blonde to go. He didn't really want to be alone, either.

"Just...sit with me?" he requested finally, seeming rather strange about it all.

Mello simply watched his face for a minute. This was new. He figured the other wouldn't want him around after what he did, but then again, it never was really pleasant to sit in pain by yourself.

"Sure," he said.

The older didn't touch the bed. In his state, touching the bed would be near a sin. So, he sat against the nightstand next to the bed, gaping at the wall opposite him. He figured he didn't deserve to look at Matt anymore, so he watched whatever else he could: the wall, the floor, his own gloved hands. Even he was getting tired, but if he fell asleep now, it would be like abandon. Guilt wouldn't allow him to do that.

Matt had meant the bed, but he didn't say anything about it. He figured that if Mello was sitting somewhere other than that, he had a good reason. The red head felt a little awkward though—more so than ordinarily—sitting at a higher vantage point than Mello. It wasn't like Mello to put himself at a lower position than anyone, literally or figuratively. He sat there in silence for a while, fidgeting with his fingers before reaching up with a wince and taking his goggles off. He set them aside on the table next to the cup, looking as strange now as he felt. He was sitting on a bloodstained bed in ruined jeans, caked blood on his skin, with a shirt wound against his upper torso. Yeah. This was a strange occurrence.

"Mello?"

Finally, Mello looked up. Yes, he had placed himself below him. It was the honest to god first self-inflicted shame he had ever experienced, and it felt worse even than when he had lived through that explosion at his late hideout. It was an emotional sort of thing; much different, and it lingered longer.

"Yeah?" he asked, threading his slender fingers together experimentally and taking them apart again. He felt sick. It wasn't like shooting the people he used to. The constant string of murder that kept him on top. This was vastly different.

Mello's friend looked down at him uncomfortably for a second before he turned his gaze up to the ceiling again, tipping his head back against the wall. He didn't like looking down at Mello. It wasn't anything he was used to, nor anything did he want to get used to.

"What're you thinking?" He questioned after inhaling shallowly and letting the breath out. It seemed like quite the random question, but it was something that Matt was honestly curious about. Mello was being...he was acting far from his normal behavior, and Matt was...concerned.

"What the fuck do you think I'm thinking?" he asked, not sharply, not even angrily. It was just there. He thought he could act pissy and worried at the same time, even if it all didn't really make sense. "I'm thinking about you, dumbass."

Cussing hardened the intent of the words. He didn't like people thinking he was capable of anything like empathy, which he was in some cases. He had beaten himself up senseless when L had died, even though he knew there was really nothing he could do about it. It was Kira's fault, and Near's fault. Near took the blame for Matt, and Kira for L. That was the sensible mentality.

"What about me?" Matt continued, sounding unfazed by the fact that Mello was actually expressing some amount of empathy for him. It registered in his face, where it didn't in his voice. He looked honestly surprised and somewhat humbled...although, that wasn't quite right. He was more pleasantly caught off-guard than anything.

He dared to venture a glance down to Mello, gazing at the top of the other's blonde head before breathing a soft exhale and closing his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall once more. Those damn Tylenol samples better kick in soon.

Mello had never liked the way L and Near sat. If it wasn't with one leg propped up against their chests, it was both legs, like a mini fortress. Maybe that was why they were so hard to crack, and why they kept themselves so reserved. No matter how much the blonde hated the seating position and the two others' mild superiority over him, he still admired that. He could never master it, no matter what.

But now, he had scrunched his legs up, creaking the leather as he did so, and pressed his thighs against himself. He looked fourteen again, from before he left Wammy's House; he looked younger.

"I could have killed you," he muttered hollowly. "It beats the shit out of me. I could have killed you." He emphasized that first, blinking. Jesus H. Christ.

Matt found himself looking at Mello again, observing his defensive position, and how many years younger it made the other look. Hell, they weren't even that old, but...they were dealing with a lot more shit than most people twice their age dealt with. They had such qualms, and strangely, Matt realized, most of them were mirror twins of childish behaviors. Mello's desire to be the best; Matt's utter laziness and unstable moods.

"I'm not dead now, though," he pointed out immediately before reflecting for a long moment. Finally, he sat up and scooted forward, sliding off the bed and sitting in front of Mello with some amount of difficulty. Admittedly, Mello really could have killed him, and maybe he ought to feel guilty, or remorseful... But Matt wasn't going to look down on him for it. He was silent for a long while, save for his laboured breathing, which soon evened out.

"So...it's okay, right?" It was just like Matt to brush something like this off. Matt never wanted to deal with anything.

"It's not, though," Mello insisted, gaze hardening as he looked at Matt. It kind of surprising how he had come down to his level. Alright, maybe not that surprising...it was just like him to do something like that, and was odder still that the older one would even recognize it.

"And hey, you get back on the bed, you sonovabitch. Relax." He frowned, brow creasing.

The blonde glared at the other, cocking his head somewhat. Again, he found himself wondering what he wanted from the other, besides loyalty. It had to be friendship, something he wouldn't get from anyone else. Mello didn't even deserve it; that was the trip.

Matt blinked back at the other, wanting to question why it wasn't okay, but he already knew the answer. So he merely shut up and leaned against the side of the bed, feeling fully awake now that he had gotten up and moved a little.

"I am relaxed," he responded quickly. And besides, he didn't really want to get back up.

Matt eyed Mello momentarily as the elder glared at him, noting that it wasn't just pure glare. There was some amount of question in that. "What?" He queried, wondering what on earth Mello could be thinking now.

"Why do you put up with me?" he asked—no, demanded, and then reclined against the uncomfortable contours of the bedside table. He figured that was the best way to phrase his delicate question, even if it was a simple one. Every time before, he would be told that he could just leave, or that the other didn't know. It pissed him off, because he knew there was more to it than just that.

The male closed his eyes. It blocked out the sight of Matt, which was something guilty in itself, and it helped to calm his mind, which was ragged from lack of sleep.

He was taken back by the other's words—he wasn't really accustomed to receiving a question in return to his questions, and this one...well, this one was particularly difficult. He fell silent, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and soon coming to the realization that it was a notion easier said than done.

"I guess...I don't...know…I..."

He paused in his uncertainty, shrugging and ignoring the pain that followed.

"I like you, I guess," he admitted, attempting to put that in the mildest way possible. He did like Mello. Even with the other's boisterous nature, Matt enjoyed the other's company. Mostly, the conversation was bad, but…friends were friends, and there was some sort of pull in that relationship that Matt felt.

Mello smiled.

It was a genuine smile, too; one that you didn't find often on those scowling lips. It made him glad to be told that, even [admittedly if it was untrue. A kind of assurance like that made him feel like his efforts weren't only for himself.

"You're pretty cool yourself, believe it or not," he said, the smile fading. Ugh. He wasn't supposed to say things like that. He didn't want...to let anyone know that he had emotions in that way, even if it was true. He was irritated all the time, everyone knew that, and sometimes he let his opinions get overruled by his better logic, but this was different. He was Mello. He didn't get close to anyone.

Matt was vaguely surprised at seeing Mello smile, but it was nice to see. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen the blonde express something like that, and for once, change was welcomed. Even more unexpected were Mello's words, and Matt couldn't help himself but to laugh a little. He breathed in, speaking again. "It's hard to believe," he assured Mello, as though this would help the other put aside his qualms over showing emotions that weren't angry or annoyed.

"You know, maybe if you were...I don't know. Not so pissed all the time, you wouldn't...shoot random people..." Matt trailed off, the words feeling foreign in his mouth. He never, ever gave Mello advice. No one ever gave Mello advice. This, Matt would like to believe, was more opinion than anything else. At least, he hoped.

"Random people?" he spluttered, finding this annoying and slightly amusing. "I told you I was sorry. I can't help it. It was Near..."

Excellent tactic. When something goes wrong, blame Near. Mello was very good at it, after all, having done it since his days at Wammy's. Near did play a small contributing factor to the blonde's reoccurring rage. But that didn't mean that he had the privilege to shoot anyone he pleased. Okay, Matt was right in that respect, but he wouldn't say that. Not out loud. Mello didn't admit his shortcomings, even though they were quite abundant.

Matt smirked—he was quite used to this defensive maneuver. He'd been around since Wammy's, so of course, he'd heard this since its birth.

"Right," he noncommittally agreed with the other, tinkering with the end of his his bandaging shirt. It was soaked through with blood at this time, but he didn't think too much of it. He eyed the other for a second, considering his 'reasoning', before shaking his head and closing his eyes once more, a sudden tire washing over him with the simple action.

"Geeze. We should sleep," he muttered under his breath, taking slow, shallow breaths to help ease the pain in his chest. At least the pain killers were kind of doing their job now.

Mello stood. Now was as good a time as ever to go and get the painkillers. Something to occupy his time. He couldn't just sleep, it would make him feel like he wasn't doing anything useful. He was quite more than that, or at least he liked to assume.

"No, you should sleep," he said. "I'm going to go get you some pills. If you need help getting back on the bed, I could lift you or something." Even though Matt had probably let all of this go (mainly because the gamer never had been one to hold a grudge), Mello wouldn't until maybe a month after. Sure, he'd hide it, but it would always be there, spurring him to be moodier than usual. Moodier even than the other.

Holding a grudge took too much effort. Hating and being spiteful took way too much energy, and Matt wasn't about to waste his time and efforts doing it.

"Just give me a hand," he answered, holding out the opposite arm of his injured side. He wasn't going to object to Mello—he figured that Mello wasn't going to be able to sleep, and pretty soon, he was going to doze off and not be any sort of interesting company. Even with the thought of Mello leaving, matt found the idea of going to sleep extremely inviting now that his body realized that it shouldn't shut down on him the second he closed his eyes.

"Alright."

He reached down and clutched the other's hand to hoist him up, or at least attempt to help. It would help if the other got sleep anyway; Mello could sleep later. Maybe on the couch...even though it was probably all bloodstained now. Oh, well. He could just flip the cushions and steal a pillow from off the bed. Matt took precedence now, as much as it killed him to realize it. The older even considered changing. He felt dirty for some odd reason, though he figured it was because he had almost killed someone. It wasn't the concept of killing that had him upset; it was killing a friend. Then who would put up with his bullshit?

Matt worked with Mello to stand, staggering to his feet and pausing a second before sitting heavily on the bed again. He was struck by a moment of light-headedness before he lay down again. The new ease of circulation was something his heart was very much thankful for, and Matt cold feel sleep now threatening to take over. He yielded to it, his eyes slowly opening and closing behind a broken veil of his messed-up red hair.

"Don't stay out too late," he told Mello in something of a bleary mumble. "Y' need your sleep."

Mello went to the threshold after the deed was done, stopping only when he heard more words tumbling from Matt's mouth groggily. He drummed his fingers against the doorframe, debating on whether or not to answer that.

"Mmmm, okay," he said. "I'll be back eventually."

Yeah, eventually. That didn't allude to if that would be soon, or hours later. It most definitely wouldn't be days later, like when Mello usually left, but there was no guarantee that he would actually sleep. Leaving Matt like this would only eat away at his conscience, though, so he knew he'd come back sooner than intended.

The blonde thought to exit the room, but stopped to pick up the key on the counter. He didn't like the responsibility of keeping the key, but it was necessary now.

And with that, he left, closing the door gingerly behind him.

"Eventually," Matt repeated, as though he was holding Mello to this promise. Hell knew what he thought, maybe it had crossed his mind that Mello might leave him and never come back now that he knew that Matt wasn't going to die. He trusted the other enough to return, though, watching him go.

When the door quietly clicked shut, the red-head breathed a soft, exhausted sigh, letting his eyes completely close and stay that way. It took very little time for the pull of sleep to lull him into unconsciousness, slipping him into a dreamless sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

True to his word, Mello came back two hours later. He looked awkward, holding a plastic bag in one hand and the key in the other. He deposited both things on the counter and ducked into the bedroom, only to be sure that Matt was still alive. Affirming this, he slunk into the kitchen to retrieve a chocolate bar. He cast a disdainful glance at the couching, banishing the thought of going to sleep. He wasn't tired anymore, but it was a fact that he would eventually go to sleep, probably when he least expected it, but not now. For some reason, he wanted to be awake when Matt woke up. The blonde could stick it out that long; he had done it before.

Matt didn't stir when Mello checked in on him—he was dead tired and consequently slept like a rock. Mello would be forced to stay up for another couple hours if he wanted to be awake when Matt came to, the other only doing so at some six in the morning when the sun was just starting to come up. It wasn't the faint light that woke him, though, but rather a renewed throbbing in his chest. Although the Tylenol promised to work for at least eight hours, the samples weren't much to combat a gunshot wound. Groaning, Matt sat up in bed, immediately regretting it both due to the dizziness that accompanied, and the pain.

"Fuck," he muttered, turning to set his feet on the ground, hesitate a second, and then stand, fighting to keep his balance and cursing all the while.

Mello was almost asleep by the time he heard the soft curse from the other room. He had been lounging against the dirty couch, having covered the bloodstains by turning the seat cushions and draping a blanket over them. A chocolate bar was dangling out of his mouth, half-eaten and almost abandon.

He stood drearily, blinking away the sleep that was now raging a battle with his eyelids.

"Ughh...Matt, I brought you some painkillers..."

The tired blonde marched over to the doorframe, there to help if the other needed. "I used my own money."

He didn't say that to make him guilty, just to assure him that he wasn't skiving off his money while he was incapacitated.

Matt looked over to see Mello standing in the doorway and looking quite tired himself. He actually looked like Matt had roused him from sleep, and the red-haired youth figured that he had. He gave Matt a somewhat apologetic smile, steady on his feet now, but in no mood to get going anywhere. He'd thought maybe he'd go out to see if Mello was around, but the blonde had already saved in the trouble—and he hadn't realized that his body was going to be so damn difficult.

"Oh, shucks..." Matt answered, now venturing a couple steps seeing as a few minutes had passed. At discovering his world did not lurch, he continued on. Where Mello was tired, Matt felt wide-awake. He never had been one for sleeping in, and even now, he didn't feel like going to sleep yet.

"Thanks, I'll get them…you look like shit, Mello," Matt informed with a small, wry grin.

"I'm worried about you, bastard," snapped the older male, retreating from the room once he had assured that the other had gotten up alright. He tossed himself on the couch again, letting out a prolonged sigh. The chocolate the was left untouched in his mouth was now getting its attention: Mello ran his tongue several times over the bitten edge of the candy, then began to wolf it down with a speed incapable by any ordinary human.

"I guess now that you're up, I can get some sleep, though."

Not that he planned to sleep for long. Just long enough to replenish his synapses and rest for a moment.

Hearing that Mello was worried about him only made Matt want to laugh for the absurdity of it, but he refrained. He didn't exactly want Mello to think that Matt was making fun of him or anything like that, and he highly doubted that Mello would continue to be kind if Matt started laughing at it.

"Sleep away, you need it," Matt told him, making his way out of the bedroom and finding the plastic bag that Mello had gotten from the store, keen to get his hands on the pain killers, whether or not they'd really help his predicament. If he was careful, the gunshot wound just throbbed and demanded his attention all the time, but it was bearable. If he wasn't, he would be forced to grit his teeth to keep from yelling something profane.

Mello, on the other hand, fell back on the couch, curling up with his chocolate to close his eyes. He licked his lips, clearing any candy remnants from them, and exhaled slowly before drifting off. He did need it after going to see Near and all the shit that had proceeded it. Especially the worry. He wouldn't confess exactly the extent of that worry, but he was sure it would cause a couple of grey hairs that would put even Roger to shame. Fuck. That was exactly what he needed...

The blonde rolled over on his back, clasping one hand over his stomach while the one gripping the chocolate slipped off the couch and onto the floor. Knowing him, though, he would still eat it, even after it had touched the filthy carpet.

Meanwhile, Matt was in the kitchen, taking a smidgen more than the recommended dosage of the pills—but he figured, what the hell. Over the counter painkillers were meant for things like headaches and toothaches, not gun-inflicted injuries. Besides, if the gun hadn't killed him, a couple of pills wouldn't do too much, he didn't think. It was really a wonder to Matt why the hell he wasn't dead.

He walked around to the area that was littered with blood and laptops, surveying the damage done for a moment before picking up his handheld video game system and sitting with a grunt. Hey, his electronics weren't bloody, so he wasn't complaining. That couch, though...well, at least Mello had make-shifted a solution. Matt couldn't help but to smile in amusement at watching Mello sleep—after the night's events, Mello looked strangely... vulnerable.

Well, Matt, being Matt, merely turned on his handheld.

...x…

Alright, so he had slept longer than he thought he would. He actually thought he would wake up after a couple of hours at a maximum, but he slept a good five hours before grumbling something in his sleep and rolling slightly on his side. This slight movement, however, tossed him completely off the couch.

"Shit," he pronounced cleanly, before supporting his light frame by one palm. He rubbed his forehead vigorously, cracking one eye at the technology that littered the side of the room he was facing. His head pounded with irritation and a little bit of pain, owed mostly to his fall off the loveseat.

"Shit," he repeated, scrambling to his feet. He sort of forgot that Matt was in the apartment.

Even if he remembered, it was doubtful that he would have remembered about the previous events as well. So, he leaned down to pick up his fallen chocolate, and strode languidly into the kitchen.

A short peal of laughter followed by a sharp inhale, a swear word, and more laughter indicated that Matt, indeed, was around. The gamer set aside his handheld, managing to have done more zombie-shooting than any work—but that was only to be expected. Matt gathered himself off the ground with some ridiculous amount of effort, leaning back against the wall with an amused smile on his lips.

"Sleep well?" he questioned Mello, having expected the blonde to wake after a couple of hours as well—but Mello had gotten a pretty decent rest after all.

"You sleep like a baby. I'm surprised that fall woke you up," Matt commented off-handedly. He might have followed, but for the time being, he decided against it. Mello would probably come back anyways.

"Shut the hell up, Matt."

Things were back to normal in Mello's world. Sleep cured most things, especially things in the way of mental unrest. He was completely fit now and ready to go out again. Well, maybe not now, but in a day or two he'd be out doing what he did best, and everything in between. Nothing deterred his mind for an unduly long time, not when he had so beautifully mastered the art of locking things away in his subconscious a he slept. That little trick prevented suicide.

He opened the refrigerator and rooted around for something. He huffed silently and slammed the door again, returning to the living room to sit heavily on the couch and nibble on his candy bar.

Matt took Mello's none-too-kind comments to mean that everything was right again—well, not that he had minded either way. A break from Mello's attitude had been nice, but as long as Mello didn't get too pissy, Matt didn't mind the regular snap that he was stuck with day in and day out.

The other's failed excursion through the fridge was a hint that Matt needed to go grocery shopping again, and add bandages to the list. He didn't really want to keep ruining his shirts—the one he was sporting now had caked blood running along it. At least it did the trick of binding his injury. He got off the wall and, with his foot as he wandered to the kitchen to see what he might luck upon, sort of rearranged his technology into order.

"What's your next move, Mello? If it banks on my being mobile, you're a little stuck." Matt was literally Captain Obvious. Really.

"I never expected your mobility," commented the blonde, massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger irritably. "When do I ever make you go anywhere, anyway?"

It was sort of a good point, although Matt was the one who usually went shopping and all of that. There was no way Mello was going out to shop so flippantly. It would be like flaunting his identity to Kira, though he had a sneaking suspicion that it was already on its way to being discovered. He hadn't been quite so surreptitious, had he?

"You usually sit here and work on the computer."

"…I don't know. You might," Matt answered with a shrug—he did own a couple damn nice cars that could be put to use any time Mello wanted them to. Granted, he also had a couple of acquaintances who had damn nice cars if they wanted to be more discrete about it. Matt momentarily disregarded the truth in the elder's statement, finding himself a grape popsicle and heading back to the room to sit against the wall opposite of the couch. He bit off a chunk, letting it melt in his mouth and distract him from the pain in his chest. "You've got your picture...Did you get anything out of Near?"

"Not really," he said. "All I went there for was my picture..."

Now that he was calmed down, he could talk about his meeting with Near civilly. It was his cycle. Everything was tranquil again, and if there wasn't physical evidence that anything had taken place, you wouldn't have suspected it. At least, not in the hints that Mello gave off; his calm demeanor was almost...suspicious. However, there was no chance that he was going to pull the trigger in this apartment any time soon. In fact, he didn't even plan to take out his gun in here. It was too dangerous, especially with him being temperamental as he was.

"What did he say to you, then?"

Matt didn't exactly know why he wanted to know—maybe it was curiosity of the case speaking, maybe it was an idea that if he knew, he'd never mention it again. Of course, now he knew that he better not say another fucking word about L dying, Mello being stupid, or Mello being like L before he got himself shot again.

He eyed the other in his serenity, looking around at the general chaos around them. Mello's moods were so…fickle. Matt's mind was joking to him that living with Mello was dangerous, like rooming with Kira himself. He inwardly laughed it off, only taking a bite from his popsicle in lieu of showing any mirth.

Mello grumbled something unintelligible, then sighed and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. It probably wasn't too smart to keep talking about Near, in case it spurred another of the elder's break downs.

"Nothing."

Of course this wasn't the case, but 'nothing' was a standard reply that usually meant 'I don't want to talk about it'. Anything Matt needed to know, Mello would eventually tell him. Now, he didn't plan on divulging anything needless.

Matt shrugged, wincing subtly and taking another bite out of his popsicle, finished with nearly half of it now. He decided to let the subject be—Matt would respect Mello's touchy spots to keep him from getting too aggravated.

The redhead cast a wry glance down to the laptops spread in a slightly scattered semi-circle on the floor, debating attempting to work now, but deciding that he kind of wanted to sleep some more. This was unusual. He decided to finish off his popsicle, have a smoke, and see how he felt then. Either way, he had a job to do.

"Hmn...Mello…today, do you just want me to keep monitoring?"

Trust Matt to continue working in a circumstance like this. Either he was dedicated, or an idiot.

Mello looked over at him. He tilted his head to the side, supporting it with his knuckles to think about this latest inquiry. To him, it didn't matter either way; Matt had working eyes and a functioning mind, so he was as sure as Hell going to do something, even if it meant sitting on his ass all day monitoring. Which he did anyway. So, there were no worries.

"Yeah," he responded, ripping down the wrapper more to expose what remained of his chocolate. "I might leave later on...but I might not. I need to set some things up."

As to what that was, he wasn't going to reveal yet. It was a plan in progress, and he didn't want to talk about it until he was ready to go through with it.

"Right," he answered, still obviously putting off the prospect of work.

Matt glanced over to the other, looking somewhat puzzled for a second before he set aside his naked popsicle stick and pulled out a cigarette and his lighter. He lit it up and took a drag from it—if Mello told him to go smoke outside...well, Matt would not be very happy.

Of course, Mello didn't tell him to smoke outside. Maybe if it were any other circumstance he would have, but now he knew that the other was in no condition to traipse out smoking. He shouldn't even be doing it now. And speaking of which...

"You shouldn't be smoking," he said hollowly. "You're just asking to die. I worked too damn hard to keep you alive just for you to kill yourself, you know."

The other male probably did, but the constant stream of reminders only soothed Mello's mind. He knew it would never break the addiction.

Matt gave the other something of a spiting grin.

"I need it," he answered, knowing full well that Mello had worked to keep him alive, and yes, he appreciated that, but he really did need the smoke. "It keeps me calm." He reasoned with the other—and it was true.

"Then maybe I should buy you some nicotine patches or something," the blonde replied curtly.

"Please don't," the other muttered—those nicotine patches freaked him out a little bit. The idea of nicotine seeping through his skin wasn't exactly one that he welcomed. "I'll find chocolate patches for you if you do."

Mello laughed.

"A chocolate patch?" If such a thing existed, maybe he would have been a little intimidated. But it was impossible. "Very funny. Like I said: chocolate can't kill you like smoking can. How can you stay calm knowing you're slowly blackening your lungs?"

It was a drug, he knew, but he had to ask the question. Disillusionment couldn't keep you satiated for long, could it? Matt still had his sanity. He knew the risks, yet he didn't care. It was kind of the same letting Mello stay. Risky. Well, maybe not so much...but he had shot him. If that wasn't risky, he didn't know what was.

"Fine. Sugar-free chocolate," Matt stated levelly to revise threat. That was very much possible, and very dangerous indeed.

"I'm probably going to die before I get lung cancer," Matt told Mello, giving the blonde a smirk to dare him to challenge this. Given the circumstances, the recent events, and the whole concoction that Matt was involved in, this was very possible. Risky indeed. Of course, Matt didn't really seem to care about too much beyond what Mello told him to do, and video games.

"Don't say that," stated Mello, visibly unconcerned as he admired his gloved hand. He didn't want Matt to die, honestly. It wasn't an ideation you'd expect from someone who shot him, but he was credibly averse to the redhead dying before he did. This was because the elder truly did expect to die first, and didn't want to go on doing all this shit alone. That's what he had his gang for. That was what he had Wammy's for. He had never, despite his somewhat reclusive nature due to his 'I alone am the best' nature, done any of his investigating alone. He would probably even go to Near, if the need arose, though he would probably make dealings with Kira himself before he was truly dependent on the younger one.

Matt only smiled a little more, taking a drag off his cigarette and blowing cinnamon smoke off to the side. Really, his cigarette was making him so calm that he was hazy—and instead of feeling any more motivated to do anything, he felt like falling asleep where he sat.

"You don't seem to mind," he pointed out. It was pretty obvious to him that Mello didn't want him to die though—he'd gone through all that trouble to keep him alive...or maybe, he just didn't want Matt to die at his hands. Despite either option, Matt was just pushing Mello's buttons. Again.

The blonde narrowed his eyes and sat up. That was his 'I'm about to defend myself' pose. He shoved the rest of the chocolate into his mouth and swallowed thoroughly before tossing the wrapper aside.

"Hey," he pointed out, stretching one leg over the couch cushion. "I do. What makes you think I don't care?"

It was obvious Matt was pushing his buttons, but Mello liked things cleanly explained. He didn't want any misconception left ill-expounded. It was just him, and the way he was brought up. One of his similarities with the rest at Wammy's House. They all liked clarification and to know the meaning of things.

As long as Mello didn't go into an 'I'm about to shoot you' stance, Matt was fine.

"You just act like it," he answered, shrugging slightly, his expression turning momentarily displeased at the pain it shot across his chest.

"But I guess that's also because you do care and you really don't want to show it," Matt ventured—that was how he did it. Mello just added on being angry all the time. "Just like I care about L and everything you think I don't care about."

Somehow, he and Mello were in the same boat, but neither of them really empathized with the other. Maybe it was their stubborn natures working against them...

Mello sat back. "I show that I care," he said, now not looking at the other. He had developed a fascination with the crescent of laptops positioned on the floor. "I talk about L all the time, or at least...I used to. And you. I fixed you, didn't I?"

There was a pause, in which he took the liberty of grimacing at the lingering aroma of smoke. It still disgusted him. "And every time I leave, I always come back. I could leave for good, Matt. But I don't, you asshole, because I do care. So think about it before you talk shit about me..."

It wasn't really 'talking shit', but that was the ideation that implanted itself into his mind.

Admittedly, this was true. Matt had always taken Mello talking about L as ambitious and obsessive. Very rarely had the thought of Mello actually caring crossed his mind. And as for fixing him... Well, he supposed that spoke for itself.

"But I am somewhat useful to you," he pointed out, just because he couldn't really negate the other. It showed. He was being terribly half-hearted about his response, and his cigarette was lowered. His hand rested idly on his knee, the filter smoldering away.

Mello had just proved to Matt that he could care. It was something that Matt had never expected the blonde to do—expressing it was one thing, but going out of his way to prove it? Unheard of.

"Mello...you hate anyone thinking that you can actually…you know…be concerned and shit, right?"

He didn't know how to phrase his reply lightly, if he could even phrase it at all. This was a conversation unfamiliar to him, and somewhat uncomfortable. But he wanted to talk about it for some reason. Goddamn. He'd be doing some serious self-beating later if this became sodden with emotion.

"I can't hate that," Mello said resignedly. "I hate people knowing me. I hate it when people can figure me out."

Mello stood up and went back to the kitchen for no reason at all. He rummaged through the refrigerator again, getting more chocolate to smooth over his senses. Fuck if he ate it all before a week's time.

Matt figured that Mello could be excused if he ate all of the chocolate—he'd been through quite the turn of events, and now Matt was drilling him on something he clearly wasn't comfortable talking about. Why Mello was letting him do this, Matt wasn't really sure, but he was going with it. Honestly, he'd always wanted to sit and talk with Mello—it was something they hadn't done since their days since the Wammy's House. Even then, these talks had been rare.

"And still…you just explained yourself to me," Matt stated slowly, clearly not meaning his whole self—the redhead didn't believe that anyone could just sit down and explain their whole self. "But acting like you don't care…let's people realize some things. You don't like showing your emotions because you think it's a weakness, maybe. Or you don't want to be concerned because you don't want to get attached. Or...I don't know. Lots of things."

Matt didn't really like to think, or venture guesses, and thinking about Mello's personality was no exception. In fact, it was an enigma that Matt would really like to tackle, but didn't think he would or could any time soon.

"I dunno, Matt," hissed the blonde. "Maybe it was because I just shot you. Maybe I thought you deserved it. I don't want you to go around just thinking I'm some bomb that's just waiting to go off. I have reasons for why I do things, even when I don't know them myself. If you're going to be oppositional about it, I could just fucking leave."

Although, he didn't really plan on it.

He didn't plan on leaving any time soon, though he knew he'd eventually push himself out the door to resume tailing Near. His plan definitely involved the light-haired male, so he had to go face him again, or at least talk to him. Next time, though, he wouldn't get so worked up.

"Just saying," Matt replied in his usual, avoiding defensive maneuver. Matt tended to challenge things, but only to force his opponent to fill out the hole that he'd created. Reversely, he tended to go at things by putting himself in the opposition's place, find their weakness, fill it out, come back to his side and counter it. Usually, it worked. Sometimes, it didn't. But it was fun…like a game.

"You're not going to leave, though, are you?" This didn't really follow Matt's 'challenge' tactics. This question actually sounded genuine. The notion of Mello leaving came up so many times since they'd moved in, the redhead was finding himself believing that one day, Mello might just never come back.

Hell, Mello wasn't going to lie. Not now that he had spilled his guts to Matt.

"I might," he voiced softly. "I can't stay in one place. It makes me feel stationary. I can't beat Near this way."

It was all about Near, wasn't it? That was all it had ever been about. Since his childhood, he would do anything to get at Near, even step on his alleged friends and leave them. It was selfish, but Mello wasn't going to simply trod on his own dreams just to assuage another. He cared, of course, but...not that much.

Matt closed his eyes and breathed a harsh sigh—he didn't know why, but he was hoping that Mello would tell him 'no, you dumbass' or something to that effect. He took a deep drag from his cigarette and breathed the smoke out, opening his eyes halfway to watch the fumes curl away from him.

"Damn it, Mello," he muttered to the other. The elder had done this exact same thing back at Wammy's—he left Matt behind just to beat Near. And Matt wondered where this slow, growing distaste for the younger had come from... He snorted. "Always have to be better than Near." Matt muttered. "If you hadn't come to Wammy's, what do you think you'd be like, Mello? If you hadn't met damn Near."

Mello hissed inwardly. He would tell Matt his deepest feelings, like a dumbass only would, and then get withdrawn at the slightest mention of Near's role in his life. It was a touchy subject, to be sure, but maybe only because the blonde didn't know the answers to most questions surrounding it.

"I would probably have nothing to strive for," he said, telling the easiest answer. "It would be different, that's for fucking sure."

Different in what way had yet to be fathomed in his mind, however; then again, he really didn't want to know that answer. He didn't like to think of what it would be like if the grass were greener.

Matt sighed again, a cloud of smoke rising from between his lips and floating away to further pollute the air with cinnamon smoke.

"I don't think so," he murmured. As a gamer, alternate worlds, parallel universes, different choices...all those things were common thought to him. Matt often spent much of his time dreaming up different lives for himself. Granted, he did it a lot more when he was younger, but even now, after a bad day...

If anyone asked, it helped him have better dreams. "I don't think you wouldn't have anything to strive for, that is," Matt clarified, coming back to the world of then. There was no point in thinking about the past, even the past that he fabricated.

"I can't think the way you do, Matt," scowled Mello. "I don't know what life would be like without Near standing in my way. In fact, if I do beat him, I won't even know what to do then. It's been a constant struggle. I guess I...need Near, in a way."

He blinked, perhaps just realizing this. Okay, the thought had been plaguing him for an awfully long time, but he never let it intrude into his waking thoughts. And now, he didn't even give a shit what Matt thought about it all. He wasn't in a war with someone like Near. He was just a spectator. Leave it to Mello to think of him so critically and put him down so far. He thought he had it worse, and that ideation probably wouldn't change for the world.

Matt paused as the other admitted that he needed Near—Near, whom he hated so. Matt looked down for a moment, considering the other's words. He guessed that it made sense, it was something that he could fathom that he understood...but Matt didn't think he would ever truly understand Mello and Near's relationship. It seemed so simple to the naked eye, but...Mello explaining things was just showing Matt how complicated the whole situation really was.

"What did you do before the orphanage? You can't have known Near all your life." Matt pointed out, wondering if Mello even remembered what life was like before Near.

For the first time, there was silence. He wanted to return to the couch, but Matt was currently in that area, and he had no inclination to go sit near him, for some odd reason. Instead, he sat on the kitchen counter again, massaging his forehead with the back of his hand.

"That doesn't matter," was Mello's only reply, followed by a grunt as he lay back against the cold formica. He propped one foot up while the other dangled off the edge. The leather he wore creaked, begging to be changed. Maybe later he'd change clothes...now, however, he wasn't in the mood.

"Remind me to wash that later," Matt commented off-handedly to Mello about the counter, breaking the silence that followed after Mello's answer as well. He took a final drag of his cigarette before putting it out and tossing it into a nearby ashtray. Putting a hand against the wall, Matt got back up on his feet and wandered back to his semi-circle of laptops, sinking down onto the couch and leaning over his work. He still didn't really want to get back to it.

He inhaled deeply, letting the clean breath out slowly and leaning back against the couch. Rather, he went back to the conversation before. "It should. If Near makes a mis—"

He stopped.

"…Near…is working a lot like L. If he dies, what are you going to do? You can catch Kira, but what point would that prove? You're better than Kira, but that's not what your goal is."

"That's what I set out to do all along, Matt," said the male discordantly. "I wouldn't know what else to do. I'll just take up L's position. But chances are, if Kira kills Near, he'll kill me too. I had my doubts immediately after L's death. What kind of narcissistic fuck would I be to presume that I could catch Kira if Near and L together can't? There's a slim chance...but I do it anyway. Just to prove that I'm not worthless, that I can do something, even if it's a failed attempt."

He felt like he was at a shrink's, but it was worse, because this was Matt he was talking to. He wasn't unduly worried about it, but he felt weak for telling all of this.

But hell...if the leather-clad one stopped talking now, he would've opened up a bunch of shit that would have spurred Mello to leave for a long while to sort some things out and get them out of his head, or maybe just leave for good. It all depended on his mood.

And where would that leave Matt? Without Near to dislike, and without Mello to be his friend. Without an L to be his game master. Hell, if everyone died, Matt would be L, but he didn't really want to think about that. He didn't want it to happen, either.

Shaking the thoughts off, he looked over at Mello again, taking in all the things that Mello had told him. The blonde was disclosing so much, it was so... unlike him. But Matt wasn't complaining.

"Mello...just...don't...Try not to get yourself killed," Matt stated finally, obviously struggling with his words due to some deeper feeling. "There's a difference between risking your life and blatantly asking to get killed."

He said something muffled, maybe something he hadn't intended to say. That, however, was too soft to be heard, and it was soon out of mind. He felt like falling asleep again, but he knew he was going to leave after this whole conversation was over, so there was no point in that.

"This whole thing's going to get me killed," Mello replied apathetically. "It's not like I'm asking for it, asshole. What'll happen, happens. But I'm not going to let Near get away with using me and beating me to Kira. That, I won't stand for. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." He turned his head away from the living room.

Matt really wanted to jump up and smack Mello in the face—he nearly did it, too, but sitting up sharply reminded him of the fresh bullet wound in his chest. He gritted his teeth and recoiled back into the corner of the couch, exhaling harshly.

"Mello—" he started, cutting himself with a frustrated sigh. "I don't want you to get killed."

He grated out, staring hard at the computer screen before him accusingly, like it was the source of the problem here.

Finally, the red-head rose from the couch, more to get up and do something than actually getting up because he had a destination. He made his way across the room again, leaning down and picking up the popsicle stick that he'd kind of discarded earlier.

"Well, piss in one hand and want in the other, and see which one fills up faster," Mello retorted. Not a very friendly response for someone who cared about his well being, but he was getting rather defensive about the fact that he had spilled his innermost thoughts to one of the people he wanted to hide them from the most. It was odd, how his moods fluctuated, and his priorities changed. It had been Near only hours ago, then it was Matt, and now he was thinking of himself above all. He hissed inwardly at his inability to sort things out, but kept still. He didn't like staying in one place for an overtly long time, not when he was thinking at a high speed, but now he was a little tired, even though he had slept a reasonable amount not long ago.

"No thanks," Matt responded to the snide comment without seeming too deterred. Granted, he'd just admitted something that Mello probably already knew to him... But with Matt, there was always a certain value to things that were said versus things that were just left hanging. Nevertheless, all he did was look sort of disdainful and throw the popsicle stick away.

Walking out of the kitchen again, he glanced to the floor, seeing it spotted with a trail of whatever blood had dripped when Mello had maneuvered him into the bedroom. Silence fell between them again, Matt finding himself without anything to say. He felt like he needed to say something to Mello, but words were failing him right then.

The blonde's thoughts stirred in his head roughly, making him wince. He was being harsh again, even if Matt didn't care. It put another load of guilt on Mello that he didn't need, especially since he had secretly vowed to be more civil to the gamer after this whole ordeal. It seemed he couldn't keep to his own word as he could to others'.

"Matt," he said, uncertainly. Screw any notion of apologizing again; he had done that too much lately to take it seriously anymore. But he couldn't think of anything else to follow that up, except his voice caught in his throat and the oh-so silent sounds of his own thoughts ticking by. He'd have to say something eventually, but nothing came. So, he merely waited to hear the other's inquiry or response before he spoke again.

The silence between them was getting really, really awkward. It was the kind of silence where you were going to say something because you were thinking about the person you were with, but then couldn't say anything just…because, and for no better reason.

"Yeah?" Matt answered a couple seconds too late. He hadn't really expected Mello to say anything, even if the blonde was being a bit of a jerk. Matt usually took it, and now was no different. He sat back against the back of the couch, looking at Mello expectantly while breathing difficultly through slightly parted lips.

"I don't want you to get killed, either."

He echoed the crimson haired male's words from before almost exactly as the other had said them, except slightly calmer. Nonchalant, even. It was uncanny how flat his tone had become in such a short while. He stirred, itching to get up, but not quite able to, like he was going to lie on the counter all day with no repercussions. He would, too, if it was not for the fact that he had work to do...maybe when the Kira case was long over, he'd adapt a Matt lifestyle, sitting in an apartment all day eating chocolate. It sounded ideal, but it wasn't Mello's life. It wasn't even close.

Matt was silent for a little while before he turned a short way and slid into the couch, landing with a satisfying 'whumph' and a slight wince. He'd never been careful of his injuries—as a kid, he'd never used Band-Aids, Neosporin, or avoided getting dirty when he had cuts. Hell, he still had a shirt wrapped around his chest.

"I'd like to think not," he answered, giving Mello a grin by way of thanks whether or not the blonde could see it.

"You wouldn't think so," said Mello, finally getting up after his endless internal battle as to whether or not he should. His sense and better nature won over his sloth, something he had only recently developed. That, he decided, was Matt's bad influence. He strode out of the kitchen, languidly running his tongue along a square of chocolate that had melted against the roof of his mouth.

"I need a cell phone," he announced. "I'm going to attempt a contact with the Kira task force that Near is investigating." A plan he had just hatched, with a little inspiration from the younger one, though he had little means of doing this without help. It killed him to get it from the SPK.

Matt's eyebrows raised up into his crimson hair, and he blinked slowly at the other.

"...well okay." He answered finally, figuring that whatever Mello was up to, it would be for the good and he didn't have to worry.

"Use mine," he told the blonde, gesturing with his head to the cell phone that sat discretely by the corner foot of the couch. He wasn't going to get up, obviously—one, he was too lazy, and two, he didn't really feel like it what with a hole in his chest. "What're you planning on getting out of them?"

"We want to find out who the new L is exactly," he said determinedly, stressing the last word a bit more than he intended, though it still had its affect. He picked up the phone, examining it before tucking it into one of his tight pockets. It showed from the leather, much like his gun did, but he didn't really care. It wasn't as though anyone was looking, and all though Mello took an interest in his appearance that outmatched most of L's successors, functionality took priority. That was a universal truth.

"We can't contact them directly, or L will just answer us. We have to try and tap the individual cell phones."

Matt considered this notion for a little bit—of course they did—wait, why?

"Didn't L think that someone on the task force was Kira? If he did, then...considering the circumstances, the fact that neither you or Near are L right now, and the police didn't go public with L's death, does it seem plausible to you that whoever he suspected is the second L?"

Matt ventured, fiddling with his hand held. Between his words, the 'ping ping, pow!' noises of his video game sounded. "I think I can tap the phones. They're still just an investigation team."

Mello's mouth twisted into a somewhat troubled frown.

"It has to be," he said. "There's only a small margin of doubt for that assumption, so we have to see it through. Besides, Near has been in direct contact with the second L for a long time. If he suspects it, then I have to agree. It's definitely plausible."

He hated Near, but he knew that the younger was very intelligent and knew what he was doing. Otherwise, he would have never excelled as L's successor. Hell...even some of his personality traits mimicked the original detective's. It made Mello wonder how much more of a threat he would become if he started sitting abnormally or wearing loose, pallid clothes.

"But yeah. It'd be better to tap the phones before Near does."

Matt nodded, thinking for a moment before sliding off the couch. Tapping a cell phone was actually rather easy, and there were many spy gadget companies that liked to sell off the equipment-- Matt had always grimaced when he thought about it, but it had taught him something-- if the average person could do it, he needed a damn more secured phone. He leaned over his laptop, tapping away at the keys.

"Damn. Kira's in one hell of a sweet position, then. It makes sense, then, that the investigation's been going in circles for six years," Matt mused, almost in awe. "Is Near in contact with any of the other task members?"

"Just one," he said. "Shuichi Aizawa. Apparently, they've been corresponding secretly without the second L's knowledge."

Mello sat on the couch beside Matt, staring over his shoulder. He wanted to be in control of this investigation, and he couldn't do that by just letting the other research and tap phones. He wanted to be a backseat driver of sorts.

"So that crosses him off as being Kira, unless he's working as both L and a member of the task force to lead us off, but that's unlikely." The male chewed thoughtfully, running through the latest developments in his mind. It seemed as though the shooting had been disregarded completely at this point.

Aside from the continuous, albeit slightly muted throbbing in his chest, Matt had almost forgotten that the incident had even occurred. Granted, he still needed to get bandages—just for the sake of convenience, but as things were, he was slightly busy.

"I don't think so, it seems a little shabby," Matt answered, not minding Mello leaning over his shoulder while he set to work on this phone tapping business. He understood Mello's want for control and didn't mind obliging. Not too much, anyways. "Shuichi Aizawa...I wonder if he's dumb enough to use his own phone to contact Near."

"Judging from the overall intelligence of that task force, probably," Mello commented. Granted, they were very organized, but they were inexperienced when it came to the practical line of law enforcement. That was lucky, or else the blonde could have been dead long ago. It seemed a lapse of intelligence on his part for not concealing his face better. He resolved to wear masks and hoods later on when he was going out.

Matt nodded, accomplishing the feat of tapping Aizawa's phone in a very short period of time. Nothing was going on, of course, but he was digging through Aizawa's records now.

"The one that's restricted is probably Near," he commented, scrolling through the call log. "If you want it for some reason, I can get it," Matt told Mello before tapping the connecting phones. It was easier than he'd anticipated—the phones all seemed to be tied somehow. Matt was guessing that they used an automatic sharing system or something like that. Yawning, Matt leaned back against the couch again with this task accomplished.

"Their security sucks. I could get into their database if you want," he offered, glancing over to Mello's scarred, but otherwise fair, face.

"I need Near's number," he said quickly, staring blankly at the screen in front of the other before looking to Matt. He would most likely need it before long, and if he was link anything to him, he needed some way of contact. A thought suddenly dawned on him. "I said I wasn't going to work with Near those years ago. And now, I'm doing just as good as working with him. It's ridiculous. If I ever suggest hooking up with the SPK for one reason or another, Matt, shoot the holy living hell out of me."

He sighed and stretched his legs out to the middle of the rug, admiring the sheen of the leather. "Search around their database for anything we might need. Identities. Information. Anything."

Matt nodded, leaning to the laptop again and keying in a few things as he traced the restricted call back to Near. He smiled inwardly at Mello's dilemma, shaking his head.

"The day I shoot you is the day that Kira turns himself in," Matt responded. Even on request, it was highly unlikely that he would ever shoot Mello.

"Considering the fact that you wiped most of them out while you had the notebook, I'm guessing that only the personnel are working with Near now. In that case, the cell phone probably belongs to one of them, I doubt Near would actually have a cell phone," Matt commented. "The number is (03) 7867-8293. It belongs to Anthony Carter," Matt informed, immediately turning to the hacked database and running a search on the name in addition to Aizawa's.

"Hmmmm," said Mello, taking Matt's cell phone from his pocket and plugging the number into a memo, and also into the address book. He could delete it later if he needed to, but any connection to the SPK was better than none. "What? You're telling me you don't want revenge for making you less healthy than you should be?"

He considered his words.

"Then again, you're killing yourself faster than I ever can." Referring to the other's smoking habit, and continuing to lurk over his shoulder, chewing half-heartedly on the end of his chocolate. So this was why he kept Matt around. He knew there was a reason why he didn't leave permanently, besides the fact that he actually liked the gamer. His quirks, not so much, but his being, yes.

"Revenge isn't something I'm game for," Matt answered. If he was, he would have gone after Kira a long time ago for killing L. He leaned over to a second laptop, typing away before reclining against the couch front. It wouldn't hurt to check the other database and have both the SPK and the Japanese task force at hand. Just in case. You never knew—hell, if all the information was there, Matt could do a cross check and see if there was a pattern in what was being ashared and what was being withheld. How that would help them, he didn't actually know, but it was worth a shot.

"Somehow, I think a bullet to the heart would be faster than nicotine to the lungs," Matt chided, his fingers rising to gingerly touch the covered wound. "Speaking of, you're going out to get bandages or something."

"Like ACE bandages or something?" he asked, only slightly familiar in the art of dressing wounds. After all, those he shot usually ended up dead. There was no need to save them. And about revenge...well, that was true; Matt wasn't like Mello at all, who was rabid in the game of revenge and it showed in his need to combat Near. Kira was only a figure in between, to be honest, even if he was the most deadly mass murderer in the world.

"Do you need it now? I don't mind going out to the store a second time, if you need it immediately. A shirt can only do so much, especially when it's your shirt."

"And gauze," Matt added, glancing down to the two whizzing computers by him. They'd been on a long time and had been working pretty hard—Matt supposed that he'd have to switch around and shuffle laptops in a little while. He looked down to the shirt binding his chest, tugging gently at it. it was caked and soaked through—he could tell that the material was stiffening with dried blood and was going to slip around some time soon.

"Yeah, I think that would probably be good. I don't think my shirt's gonna hold up much longer anyway."

Mello stood up with a vague nod and gathered what money was left on the counter from when he had left before and shoved it in his pocket, where there was little room to begin with. It already housed Matt's cell phone, after all. He went to the door and rested his hand on it before looking back briefly.

"D'you need anything else?" he asked, wanting to kill any birds with this one stone trip he had to avoid having to go out again. Each time was hazardous, even if he was pulling on his hooded jacket to conceal his half-scarred face.

Matt thought on this—he didn't really think that he needed anything. New video games, maybe, but matt highly doubted that Mello was going to continue on to a video game store, what with the risk he was taking to go out.

"I don't think so," he answered, assuring himself with a small nod. He'd gone grocery shopping recently, so...

Of course, he couldn't really picture Mello in a grocery store either.

"Have fun," the redhead taunted by way of saying goodbye, returning to his work, his hand sneaking towards his handheld.


	7. Chapter 7

**nana.**

"You went grocery shopping?"

Incredulously, Matt stared as Mello re-entered the apartment with a few plastic bags.

"I figured you wouldn't be doing it for awhile," the blonde commented, retreating from the refrigerator and returning to the room. A fresh bar of chocolate was clutched in one hand, and he appeared quite unconcerned.

"No shit," Matt answered, continuing to regard Mello with apprehension before grabbing the bag and pulling out the newly purchased bandages. He set them aside and untied his shirt, gingerly pulling it away from his wound with a wince.

"I got some microwave dinners and shit like that. Oh, and a pack of cigarettes." There was a pause. "Mostly because I found your stash and threw it away." Merciful Mello was a rare thing, but he figured he could spare some because of the recent events. If Matt wanted to kill himself to feel better, that was his problem.

"... What?" the addict questioned, sounding completely abashed. "Mello, dude, that's not gonna last me very long!" he sounded vaguely panicked.

Mello narrowed his eyes at the other, then brushed off the exclamation by striding up to the other to hover in case he needed assistance. "You're just lucky I bought you any at all," he said, with a satisfactory note in his voice. "If it wasn't for guilt, your ass would be cigarette deprived." There was a sigh, and he sat next to the gamer to go through the bag of medicinal things.

"Guilt?"

Mello relatively ignored the comment. "When you get better, you can go buy your own. That's not what I'm here for." And it was true. There was a five minutes' time of thought before he had actually bought the putrid things, because he figured he needed to weigh the pros and cons of buying them. He still had no idea on how the pros outnumbered the cons.

"Haven't I always?" The redhead pulled out a box of antibacterial wipes, tossing aside his wound shirt and looking at the hole in his chest properly. He grimaced and nearly swooned on the spot-- Matt had never had a stomach for bloody stuff. Matt had yet to ask Mello for help, even when he was reduced to using two fingers and wearing a face of mild disturbance.

There was a moment when the blonde merely watched Matt tend to himself, knowing exactly the sentiment of self-worth. After awhile, he reached out a hand to help, keeping it aloft in a gesture of offering. "If you need my help, all you have to do is ask," he said, not quite forcing his help upon the other unless he aptly needed or asked for it. The male was not as disconcerted by the gore, as he had seen it before. As was expected of him, who had killed and maimed to get where he was. And for what? A spot on the couch in the asshole of an apartment of his friend.

Matt finally grunted and resigned a new cloth to Mello's hand, looking paler in the face than he had been. Video game gore, fine by him. Real life gore, keep it far enough away that he couldn't smell it. Real life gore on him—god bless him and not let him get shot again.

"Fine," he resented, although the word wasn't as harsh as it was ordinarily intended to be. It was just that Matt was too stubborn to actually ask Mello to help him out. He glanced to Mello, his eyes flickering to the injury the blonde had inflicted before averting his gaze to the window. He wanted to look neither way right then.

Mello wasn't too familiar with empathy, but he knew enough about himself to know that it was a feat indeed to allow someone else to help you. He had almost allowed himself to die rather than permit Matt to assist him the first time, when he had first received his burns. It was a thing of pride and foolishness, and the elder had been beaten too many times to give up so easily. Snickering inwardly at the other's expression and the way he turned away, he began to clean away the blood, actually relieved to see that the wound was healing somewhat, if not at a fast pace. The caked blood only made it look worse than it was.

"You're laughing at me, I can tell," Matt stated testily with a scowl. After years of growing up with the other, he could see when Mello was amused. When the other had cleared away enough blood for his liking, Matt glanced back to the bullet wound in his chest, bidding his features to remain carefully blank. Matt had always been the first one to get up when he was knocked down-- if he wasn't feeling too lazy about it. His body, however, seemed to realize that infection lurking around the corner was a good motivation to act fast.

: "And if I am?" Mello inquired, lifting his head to cock an eyebrow before deeming the wound successfully clean--well, clean enough--and drawing out a jug of disinfectant that he figured would be a lot stronger than just antibacterial wipes. He unscrewed the cap and drew a fresh rag from the bag, ripping off the tag from the cloth and soaking it in the stuff. This time he covered the wound again, merely applying pressure so that the medicine on the rag could spread effectively over the area. "Later you need to take a shower to rinse of all this shit," he said. "And you probably need one anyway."

Matt nearly flinched at the sight of the disinfectant, but he had a little more composure than that. Instead, he just leaned back against the couch and let Mello tend to him, eyeing the cloth warily and twitching when it made contact with his newly exposed flesh. His faith was not rewarded. It stung. He wasn't sure whether or not he was exactly comforted to know that the usual, ever-present pain of being shot hurt more than just stinging, but he found enough truth in the matter that he didn't react any more. "And the sheets need to be changed and the floor needs to be cleaned," he pointed out blandly, although he knew that neither of them would get to that any time soon. "Lotsa things need to be done." Including case work, which he would do. Really.

"Fuck if I'm cleaning the floors any time soon," he said pointedly, voicing the ideation that was probably lingering in both of their minds. "You can do that when you get better."

"But you might change the sheets?" Matt insinuated hopefully. He didn't really want to sleep on dried blood, nor did he actually want to change the sheets-- but both he and Mello knew that he would if Mello didn't.

The elder shook his head at the mention of the sheets, a smirk playing at the creases of his lips. Mello removed the cloth after awhile reached in to the bag once more to withdraw a long winding of ace bandages. He untwisted the roll and poised over the other. "Sit up straight and lift your arms as best you can," he instructed in a monotone.

Matt grimaced at the notion that the other wasn't going to change the sheets but did as instructed, managing to get his right arm maybe halfway to shoulder level, which was all right, although his left didn't seem to want to cooperate all that well. He moved it far enough away from his body that Mello's hand could pass through there with a bit of brushing-- and he seemed to be content with that, because he didn't make an effort to move anymore. It hurt too damn much, even with the pain killers. "Y'know, Mello, how many people have you shot and then bandaged, hm? You act like you've done this before, but I can't see you mothering any mafia guy."

Even if he had, there was no way he was going to talk about it flippantly with Matt. Each wrap was pulled tighter than the previous, ensuring that it kept a tight hold on the injury in the case that it opened up again. Though this was unlikely, anything could happen, and he worked too damn hard for the red head to suddenly die despite their efforts.

"Yeah, yeah," he said in response to the second remark. He looked straight up at Matt with an unfathomable expression. "Usually when I shoot people, I make sure they stay dead."

"There's a first time for everything," he recited, knowing the expression from all the times it had been tossed back at him for his excuses of not knowing how to do something to get out of doing some new task. "Done yet?" he questioned, not so much impatient, but his left arm was just plain sore and was begging to be put down again.

Mello tightened the wrappings a final time for good measure and fastened them with the clasps provided in the package. "Yes, I'm done," he affirmed, drawing away from the other and standing up.

"Now get a goddamn shirt on."

He grinned and stood up, picking back up his chocolate to nurse at it with his mouth, keeping it suspended there for awhile as he paced around putting things away. Once that task was done, the blonde took the bag of treatments into the kitchen and dropped it lazily on the counter. If luck favoured them, they wouldn't have to use it much more. If it didn't, it would be exactly where he left it.

Matt had a lot of cleaning to do. He wasn't exactly a neat freak, but what with all his electronics lying around... He liked to keep fairly organized, just in case. Grumbling, he wandered back to the room to pull on a fresh shirt. Surprisingly, this one was just plain, solid black rather than his usual bi-coloured stripes. Somehow, though, it seemed to suit for the situation.

As the newly-clothed gamer reentered the room, he asked, "What was it that I said that pissed you off?" Sitting down on the floor with a short grunt of effort, he returned to his laptops. "I either wanna save it as a trump card or never say it again." He cracked something of a smirk-- it was hard to tell which he actually meant, or even if he was being serious at all

"Don't you have work to do?" On the other hand lounging, Mello took the liberty of taking the other's cell phone and flipping through his contacts list. He had a right to be nosy; after all, he was living with him. If the gamer had a girlfriend, Mello was more than apt to know.

Actually, from the looks of the phone, Matt had several girlfriends. Female name upon female name zipped through the phone listing-- but if Mello bothered to check, those same names were all over Matt's missed calls, but no where near his outgoing ones. Actually, the only contact that had been outgoing in the past forever was Mello. "I'm doing it," Matt assured Mello, leaning over his work with a newly lit cigarette in hand. He had his elbow propped against his knee to minimize the movement he had to make to feed his dependency. "And besides-- don't you?"

The only work Mello had to do at the moment was analyze anything Matt happened to find, before putting his plan to seek out the new L into motion. Then, and only then, would things grow serious. He tore his eyes away from the cell phone's miniature screen long enough to sigh and contempt and scoot over to Matt and flip through the numbers again and bring up the one from Near. "Hey...look up this area code for me," he said, dangling the electronic in front of the other's face before jerking it away and offering it.

Matt waved the phone off-- he already had the number on his computer and was soon enough running a check on it. "Osaka."

"I need to contact the task force in Japan, now," he said. "Find any number you can."

"Every number, already done." Matt pulled last night's spoils. Aside from L's number, the other task force members were there. Hopefully, that was all of them. There had been one unattainable number in the system that he'd scoured through to get these numbers, but he figured that one was the second L's and it was no surprise. "Touta Matsuda, Kanzo Mogi, Shuichi Aizawa, Hideki Ide. Take your pick," Matt offered, swiveling the screen around for the blonde to see.

Mello bit his lip, figuring that it wouldn't matter whose number he chose, as long as that person had a connection to the second L in some way, which all of them seemingly did. He mentally decided against Shuichi Aizawa, knowing that he was already in contact with Near and would probably have no use to them. Furrowing a brow, the blonde pointed. "Kanzo Mogi," he mouthed allowed, adding the number listed to Matt's phonebook. He started to turn away, then decided against it and added each other number in succession. You could never be too prepared.

Matt peered over to make sure the other was finished before he moved windows, scanning through the databases with a strange speed that could only be acquired through masterful talent and experience. Near and L's ability to watch multiple screens at one time could almost be equated to Matt's ability to search databases at a striking rate of accuracy. Nothing seemed to really jump at him, though. Silence reigned momentarily. "We didn't really do shit, but… I'm tired. Let's sleep."

Mello glanced up from the phone, vaguely put off by Matt's up-front manner of expressing his unwillingness to do any other work. Sighing, he decided to excuse it this once due to the fact that he didn't want any chances of letting that bullet wound get to the other. "Fine." After a moment, he added on a grumble. "Lazy ass…" 

Matt grinned.

"I know."

--

Though reasonably graceful in most of his movements, a sleeping Mello was quite a sight to see. He lay sprawled across the couch, one leg and one arm draped across the back of the furniture, while the rest of his body slumped over the cushions, threatening to tip him over at any time. And yet, he maintained his precarious posture the entire night, even up until morning when the sun began to pool against the bloodstained carpet (that had yet to be cleaned) and up onto his still leather-clad body. Blonde hair clung to his face, which was sticky with sweat conjured by the heat of the night and the sudden arrival of morning. He murmured slightly in his sleep and rolled over, disturbing his awkward position only to toss the hair from his face.

Mornings like this reminded him of those days back in Wammy's. Those days where he'd poke Mello and see how many times it took for the other to wake up... Or... See how aggravated Mello would get before he would come back to the world of the waking. Tempted to try out some old time traditions, and seeing that there was nothing he'd missed because there was nothing to be gained, Matt snuck across the room and carefully, oh so carefully, prodded Mello in the leather-clad side.

Immediately, Mello curled up into a ball with a tiny, very uncharacteristic squeak, eyes fluttering open angrily to blink up at the offender with as much venom as he could muster. The elder unfurled and sat up, aiming a punch to Matt's shoulder that wouldn't spur too much pain from his healing injury, but would still send the message that it was never an intelligent idea to poke a sleeping Mello.

"Ow." Matt reacted noncommittally; glad that the shoulder Mello had punched was the one opposite to the side that he'd gotten shot in. The more he thought about it though, it wouldn't matter if he got punched on his left side or not. Seeing Mello curl up and squeak, just like he had back in the old days, made up for it all. Hell, Mello didn't pull a gun on him again and that was all that Matt cared about.

"Sleep well?" he questioned the elder, just as he had done back in the orphanage. In fact, Matt had taken the comical liberty of resting his chin against the edge of the couch like the little kid he used to be. "You squeal like a girl."

He stood, shoving Matt again just for good measure and strolling into the kitchen. From there, the male made a scene of watching the refrigerator for a moment before rummaging through it to retrieve a morning chocolate bar. A fair eyebrow rose at the other, and he peeled back the wrappers before deeming the gamer's comments worthy of a response. "Yeah, good morning to you, too," he said gruffly, leaning against the counter.

Matt smiled wanly. When they were kids, this was the time they'd race down to the cafeteria for breakfast. Being a smart one, Matt had always let Mello win-- hell, he wasn't sure if he'd be bothered to race properly anyway. It all seemed like so much work to him. "I should try waking you up more often and see how long you still say that to me."

"Live for it, do you?" he asked with a slight snort, striding in to the living room after his fascination with the kitchen had fizzled to naught. Mello couldn't have cared less about his past, since he had done well to forget it. The past never served him before, and all it brought was painful memories, not to mention regrets.

The blonde lingered in the middle of the room for awhile, concentrating on one spot on the carpet before collapsing against the skirt of the couch, placing his ass on the floor with a satisfied "wumphh".

"Of course." Matt answered, lying back against the couch too, and producing his custom-made handheld video game system. He bleeped away at the game that was on the screen, carefully guiding his little monster through a maze filled with various hazards. "So what's the agenda?" he questioned, feeling as though he had to raise the question. Mello wasn't talking about Near, nor was he talking about Kira, or the case in general... He was being oddly quiet, actually. Maybe Matt's previous concerns of a couple days ago were true-- maybe Mello was getting sick. He hadn't, after all, really been taking care of himself.

For a long while, Mello didn't answer. He just sat there, head against the couch, thinking and wondering, nearly falling asleep again before he did answer.

"I don't know," he said, his voice shallow. To be honest, he had a lot of things whirling around in his mind, and a half-baked idea about getting closer to Kira using Hal Lidner. But for now, he wasn't in the mood to talk about plans, or agendas.

Matt looked over to Mello, seriously concerned about him for a second. It really wasn't like Mello to just sit there and do nothing. Granted, he didn't blame the other-- maybe his mannerisms had rubbed off, but still... Deciding to be brash, Matt reached over and pressed the back of his hand against the blonde's forehead, slipping under his bangs to feel the half-marred, half-flawless skin there. "No fever," he announced, seeming to talk to himself more than he was to Mello. He, however, did attempt to catch Mello's eye and give him something of a smirk.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," hissed Mello, shoving the other away and shoving the bar of chocolate into his mouth to break off a piece and chew it with obvious malcontent. "Just because I don't tell you my ideas doesn't mean I have a fever." That was his excuse when he didn't feel like expressing his ideas, even if he didn't honestly have them. "Maybe if I were Near, I'd be flushed with inspiration. I'd have money and resources out my ass." There went his second weapon: blame it on Near, evem if he didn't have anything to do with the situation.

Matt peeled away, making sure that he didn't get roughed up too badly in Mello's discontentment. "You _could_ be sick," Matt pointed out, seeing the reason in this. He wasn't about to explain it to Mello, though, he didn't think that was any good. Even so, Mello continued on and included Near in the conversation, which shut Matt up pretty quickly. The red-head wrinkled his nose in distaste, moving a hand to adjust his goggles using the bridge piece.

"Fuck Near," Matt answered, his voice oddly calm. "I told you, I'll get you as much money as you want. I'll operate as many fucking computers as Near's got going. You make the connections, I'll get everything else going," he stressed to the other, subtly pointing out that he had long since accepted that he was willing to be a tool in Mello's operations.

"That's not the point, Matt."

"Then what is?" Matt shot back, his demeanor an undoubted cool. He took a breath off his cigarette, procuring a fresh one and lighting it.

"The point is is that I'll probably kill myself trying to catch Kira and that snide bastard will still win." He knew that the other would be more than willing to do whatever Mello wanted, but that just wasn't good enough in the blonde's eyes. Unquestioning loyalty was all fine and dandy, but he wanted that feeling of being on top. As of yet, his efforts had yielded fruitless, and he could find no upper hand.

Matt exhaled a stream of smoke down to the floor, thinking rather seriously it seemed. He gave Mello fucking everything, and Mello just threw it aside because it wasn't good enough. Unless somehow Matt could conquer the world and give it to Mello, it wouldn't be good enough. Then again, Mello might just want to conquer the world for himself. Matt laughed hollowly at the thought.

Mello continued over the other's hidden, cynical thoughts. "You know what? Through it all, he'll be wearing that cool, nonchalant expression. Like he doesn't care. It drives me fucking insane." The chocolate in Mello's mouth suddenly lost its flavour, and he threw it onto his lap with disdain. Of course, he'd pick it up a few minutes later to seek the console of his sweet, but for now he was sick of everything.

Typical, misanthrope Mello.

Matt scowled. Mello's fears and his fears were pretty much the same. Mello had told him that the line between throwing his life into the way of peril and simply risking his life was non-existent; but quite frankly, Matt didn't think that was possible. Maybe Mello might be so determined that it seemed that way, but Matt disagreed.

"Do you really have to fucking kill yourself, Mello? What're you going to have then? There's got to be a way to do this without dying, because Near's gonna think of it." Matt pointed out scathingly, turning to look at the disdainful one beside him.

"Of course Near's going to think of it first!" Mello cried, picking up his chocolate to occupy his hands, which were fixing to curl into fists and punch out his companion because of the sheer magnitude of the conversation. "Perfect Near will always think of it first. No matter how hard I try, he'll succeed and I'll either be dead or second place."

"So why don't you get there first? Then that won't happen." The thing that Matt hated about Mello and how heated he got about his goals was that he often got so wrapped up in them that he was blinder than Matt in seeing what was right in front of him. In this case, right beside him. Matt had tried to accept that he wouldn't amount to much more than a kind of friend and a partner to Mello, but it was one of those things that he just couldn't do. He gave himself wholesomely to the other, and yet Mello very rarely stopped to realize he was there. Hell, Matt had to get shot by Mello's hand in order for that to happen.

Maybe, in the very core of things, Mello appreciated Matt more than anything. But he usually was caught up in what was right at the forefront of his mind, which was usually his blinding hatred for Near and his want to be first for once.

"Maybe if you quit that fucking attitude, it won't be that way." Matt suggested, his intent boiling, but his voice staying completely cool.

"Maybe if you would shut the fuck up, you wouldn't have to listen to my attitude," Mello said, rather mildly, but the simmering anger was still there. It was true that he was blind to some things, but he wanted to do something meaningful. He wanted to prove that he was good for something, that he wasn't just another empty life in the world, only created to expedite the success of someone else. He wouldn't be--couldn't be--satisfied with that kind of life.

"What if I don't care?" Matt challenged, because he didn't. He put up with Mello long enough that the other's attitude didn't really faze him anymore. It was just the small things that got to him that pissed him off, but that you couldn't blame him for. Because, as things were, Matt didn't see Mello as appreciating him. Hell, he had to really try to hold onto the fact that Mello cared about him. Most of the time, though, Matt felt himself feeling like that good dog on the leash that got shucked aside for new, fancier things. "What if you've been bitching to me for too long?"

"So what are you going to do about it?" Mello questioned, rising to the challenge. "Bitch back at me?"

"Maybe I should."

The gamer was currently torn between punching Mello in the face and hoping to knock some sense into that head of his-- or indeed, bitching him back.

"If you're never fucking good enough, why don't you understand that no matter what I fucking do, I'm never good enough for you? It's always fucking Near this, Kira that, go shove them up your ass, Mello," Matt answered, sucking a deep breath from his cigarette in order to placate his fiery nerves.

There was a silence.

And then, "When have I ever said that?" he said, almost accusingly. "When have you ever heard me say anything that even remotely resembled me thinking you're not good enough?"

Matt shut up at that, gritting his teeth.

"I need to do something with my life, even if it's a failure," Mello continued, "I have to prove that I'm worth more than that, or I'll never let myself forget it. Kira is my only chance to not only prove myself to me, but also to Near. I have to show him that I'm not useless."

"That's just it, damn it. Do I have to keep getting shot for you to listen to me?" His cigarette quaked in between his fingers. "Why do you have to prove anything to Near? Why Near? Does his opinion matter so much more than mine?" Matt stabbed, jabbing at the truth of his situation here. He hated that Mello seemed to shirk his word even when Matt very well knew that the hot-headed, crass thing in front of him was worth his fucking life. But all it seemed to him, though, was that Mello's future was only worth Near's satisfaction.

"You haven't been kicking my ass for years."

Mello's chocolate was gone. Thankful for a chance to get up and away from the red head who was currently pushing too many buttons, he stood and retreated into the kitchen. Eventually, he decided against getting any more and sat down against the refrigerator, turning to watch Matt fiercely. But there was no way he was going back into that damned room with him. Mello didn't want to do anything he would regret.

Matt gritted his teeth. That couldn't be it. He would refuse to believe that Mello's sense of inferiority just came back full circle and bit him in the ass. No way. That reasoning was the only reason why Matt's opinion-- Matt's whole fucking drive was shucked aside? Great. Real great.

Getting up, he put out his cigarette in a shot glass that sat by the beaten lamp, staring at the half-smoked thing before proceeding to the kitchen. Matt knew very well that he was pushing Mello's buttons-- he was always pushing Mello's damn buttons. One, there was amusement to be had-- two, it was a stupid reason to get under Mello's skin and spark something in him that wasn't just an impassive order. He didn't seem to have any regrets, though, as he staggered forward his last couple of steps and slammed his right fist into Mello's cheek.

"How about kicking your ass now?"

He wasn't expecting anything like that from Matt, who he always viewed to be impassive and openly receptive to anything Mello could dish out, and so, he fell to the side, collapsing on the cold linoleum floor with a wide-eyed look. His resilience, though, was remarkable; the blonde got back on his feet almost immediately and lunged himself at the other, being damned if he was going to take anything like that without putting up a good fight. He may not have been able to win against Near, but he wasn't going to let Matt beat the hell out of him.

Mello took the gamer by the collar and attempted to shove him roughly against the refrigerator, not giving a shit if he angered the gunshot wound.

It seemed like Matt's tables had flipped on him-- although suddenly, he had a flaring temper, he had nothing else. All his anger looked drained away-- his tire, his annoyance, shreds of kindness-- all of it gone. Mello's fist dug into his newly abused flesh, but all he did was respond with a twitch that flared from his reacting nerves. It hurt like Jesus burning on the cross, but he didn't show it.

Fuck it. Fuck it all. "Goddammit, Matt," the blonde swore.

"'Goddamnit Matt' what?"

Silence.

"Why I ever moved in with you is beyond me," hissed Mello. No matter how much animosity he held for the other, he didn't want to fight with him until they killed each other, which they eventually would if Matt kept pushing him closer to the edge. He stomped toward the living room, fingers twitching in the absence of his chocolate.

"Because you either needed or wanted my help. Or maybe you missed me." He sounded scathing.

"Hell no. I'd be better off leaving." Mello shoved Matt back against the fridge and let go.

"Go ahead," Matt answered, straightening and gingerly touching a couple fingers to his chest. Through his black shirt, he couldn't tell how bad the damage was, but he could feel a thin layer of slick coating between his fingertips as he rubbed them together. He'd be fine. "Why don't you take whatever you want, too?" he suggested, gesturing to the array of electronics lying out in the other room. "I'm yours to use until the very end." It was a taunt, and nothing more.

"Fine," he snarled, sort of put out by this answer. What had he been expecting? Matt to beg him to stay? Unlikely, even for Matt. And yet, Mello couldn't believe it, but that's what he had been craving. He wanted the red head to want him, in a way. But hadn't he always? "I _will_ leave. I'll leave you to your games and your nonexistent life. I'll leave you to your slow, painful death on your cigarettes. You're a hopeless cause, Matt." The male then began to stomp around, gathering what little clothes he had; he even snatched a laptop and a few cables to go with it, just to mock the offering he was given.

Matt fell silent, staying in the kitchen, against the refrigerator, not trusting his body to stay on his good side. He knew well enough that he was physically fine, but his mental stability worried him at the moment. He was sure that if he moved, his head would think that he was trying to stop Mello, mutiny, and send him plummeting to the ground. Instead, the red-head placidly watched Mello pack from where he was. He was only letting the elder go because he felt the need to wallow in his own self pity and hope that Mello would come back, just like all the other times.

Part of him, though, dearly begged him to get up despite the threat. Part of him didn't want this time to be like that one exception.

Mello stopped his incessant pacing only when he found that he couldn't find anything else to take in his rage. Well, there was one last thing, and he turned in a huff to the kitchen to fish out all the chocolate he had bought on that 'fateful' day when they went to the arcade. The candy store's emblem was emblazoned proudly across it, and he scowled at it, as though trying to explain.

_I've had enough of his shit._

The blonde whirled back out of the kitchen and stomped to the door, each step slowing, perhaps giving Matt the chance to stop him. "I'm not coming back," he reminded, although he wasn't too sure of this himself. If he did, it would either hurt his pride or save his life. It was walking a fine line.

Matt moved now, inching towards the living room where the couch offered a refuge. He hadn't done much, but his body was repulsed with him at the moment. He ignored it. It wouldn't do now for him to do something stupid and petty like collapse in front of Mello. He didn't have anything to say to the other, but the steps that Mello were taking slower and slower seemed to draw Matt a little nearer. Eventually, he reached out and grabbed Mello by the wrist-- but it stopped there.

"... 'Course not."

He dropped Mello's wrist like it was scalding iron against his skin. Matt flexed his fingers and adjusted his goggles-- he wasn't debating with himself, but he hadn't made a decision either. His mind was impressively blank-- but for once, that wasn't a good thing. "Are you sure you're going?" he asked finally, unsure of anything else to do.

There. There it was. It wasn't a plea, like Mello had been hoping, but it was close enough. It was some semblance of a doubt, a question that hinted toward Matt wanting him to stay. Or...something like that. He drew his wrist toward himself, as though appalled at the touch, but had a contemplative expression on his face, as though he was seriously considering inquiry.

Which he wasn't.

The blonde glared heavily and then drew away from the door, dumping the mass in his hands onto the sofa. "Of fucking course I'm not," he said. "I can't just leave now without making plans in advance. I have a deal with Hal that I need to put through, and I need your help if it's going to work." He scowled. "Are you happy?"

Matt could swear that the fucking a-bomb dropped outside his window and he had survived. That was the extent of his relief. He moved back and sat down on the couch-- or rather, kind of half-fell, and half-lowered himself into it. He sat there for a little bit, blinking at Mello with an unreadable expression. "Sure," he answered finally, seeming to come to his senses again and go back to being the impassive self that Mello knew.

It was like someone had pressed an almighty button. The blonde could just feel things sink back into blissful normalcy, and he wondered vaguely whether that was a good or bad thing.

"Aren't you happy?"

"Happy as happiness gets," Mello answered, far more distracted than he was relaxed. _Why am I so weak? _He could have left, and honestly, he would have. But something made him stay, at least until he went through with his plans. At least.

Matt refrained from moving yet, watching his friend with some menial amount of interest. "I'm glad you didn't leave."

Mello looked up.

"Yeah. You should be."


	8. Chapter 8

**hachi.**

The day had progressed much without conflict. Matt had taken a shower, Mello had eaten more chocolate, and they both had looked through further information on the Kira case. Currently, they were taking what Matt would like to call 'a break'. In truth, it was the few minutes where they ceased to touch anything electronic and Mello was rebandaging Matt's chest. In addition, they were attempting to hold another civil conversation, which was what made this 'break' a phenomenon.

"You're still in a bad mood," Matt commented, knowing for certain that their earlier argument couldn't have jarred Mello. They argued all the time. Granted, most of the time it didn't end with Matt socking Mello in the face, but it had been a punch waiting for years to happen, in Matt's defense.

Mello cocked an eyebrow. He had an urge to say "No shit, Sherlock", but he figured that that wouldn't help the situation much, and it was rather an immature thing to reply with when he was trying to be, well, somewhat serious. So, thinking over what he should say instead, the male exhaled with little conviction and finished winding the bandages and hooking it together.

"Nothing," he insisted. "I'm just pissed that you had to open up your wound again and make me go through all this trouble." He cast him a slight smirk, to indicate that he wasn't all too serious about this. It was his mostly his fault, after all.

Matt indicated some gratitude with a slight sort of smile, leaning into one corner of the couch and observing his newly bandaged chest for a second, clearly uninterested in getting a new shirt to put on. He'd already ruined enough; he would rather lay off for a bit. "Oh come on. It was your fist in it that made it bleed," he pointed out with a wry grin. Granted, he had been the one to punch Mello, but he wasn't about to bring that up.

"You started it," Mello said, addressing what they were probably both thinking and sounding to all the world like a child trying to negotiate his side of the fight. Then again, it seemed the most appropriate thing to reply with, though it may or may not have been true depending on whom you asked. Though Matt had initiated the fistfight, the blonde had probably begun the conflict long ago with either his words or his presence. Either could incite the worst in anyone.

"It's a general rule that if you still have a healing gunshot wound, you don't start fights immediately afterward."

"Hey," Matt laughed out his defense, his good nature still in tact despite Mello's bad mood. And if anything, Matt would like to say that Mello's mood was lightening a little. He was making jokes, anyway, and being witty, which was fine by the red-head. "Excuse me if I haven't memorized the gunshot wound rule book. I've never been shot before."

"Well, now you have," he said, seemingly uncaring. "Not everyone has been shot in their lifetime. You've experienced something rare, so feel privileged and learned," Mello said, his tone of voice indicating that while he wasn't necessarily angry with the other, he was looking on everything with contempt and dull annoyance now.

For some reason, Matt found Mello's sarcasm horrendously funny. It showed, too–there was a vague sparkle of hidden laughter behind those tinted goggles of his. "Mmhm, I do," Matt lied through his teeth, although he was enjoying Mello' sarcasm. He was genuinely at ease with the sarcasm–because usually, that meant that Mello was tolerable. It was when the insults were whipped out that he might start to immerse himself a little deeper in his games. "Should I be glad my teacher's you?"

"There's no better," said Mello, with a verbal flourish, leaning back imperiously and tilting his head into the couch as if it were his throne. He didn't spare a grin, or even the semblance of a smile at the time, not being able to find the muscles. Usually after a spat, though, he tended to get overwhelmingly angry; he also tended to get over it easily and return to his slightly domineering, indifferent self. He had taken a break from his searching to gather his thoughts, which had spread quite a bit once he started talking to Matt. Perhaps that was because the discussion was so obscure, and maybe...at ease.

Matt, quite frankly, was enjoying Mello's company quite a lot at the moment. Maybe too much, actually. He was willing to bet that his enjoyment during this particular time was banking on dangerous. He didn't really know why he found Mello's company particularly pleasant now, when he couldn't have stood him but an hour or so ago. Maybe it was the fact that he had finally punched Mello in the face that was making everything chipper and dandy now.

"You know, you're kinda hot when you're pretending to be regal," Matt pointed out with all the nonchalance that followed him around. It wasn't exactly a provocative comment–in fact, it had no aim. It was just a comment.

Mello's only reaction was a raise of an eyebrow and the thinnest smile. It was his first in awhile, despite his better nature, but it was more amused than anything. Of course he knew that there was no serious intent behind these words. It was just playful banter. And yet, it wasn't at the same time. It made a frown appear on his face merely seconds after the smile, though that was soon replaced by cold apathy, the usual result of discomfiture or uncertainty.

"Ah, I'm so flattered," he, at last, said, laying on the sarcasm again. "Too bad for you, I don't swing that way."

"Right, right." Matt wasn't exactly sure what the situation called for any more, so he decided to just lean his head back against the corner of the couch he was in and stare at the ceiling with something of a wicked little, diabolical half-smile hinting on his features.

"When was the last time you got laid, Mello?"

This time, his reaction was a lot stronger. His eyebrows stayed fixedly in place while his eyes widened, wondering why such a question was warranted. Was this still all a joke? Maybe, and as long as there was a shred of doubt, Mello would treat it as such.

"That's personal information," he said curtly, but with a note of tease. "When was the last time_ you_ got laid?" He might as well ask while he was at it.

Hey, it wasn't an offer.

Matt chuckled; he'd been expecting the question, but it still sounded funny coming out of Mello's mouth. Especially if Mello was just saying that his sex life was 'personal information'. With how brash Mello was, though, Matt was willing to bet that Mello hadn't gotten laid in a while. Otherwise, he probably would have answered.

"A couple days before you came," Matt answered easily. He, unlike Mello, wasn't secretive at all. Of course, if he hadn't gotten laid in a while...he might have said that it was personal information. "But you've made it pretty much impossible to go do someone, thanks."

That wide-eyed look remained on his face, though it dulled slightly. His voice, however, remained placid and deadly cool, not put off by the fact that Matt had probably more action in his life than he. Then again, he never had the chance with his faithfulness to his vendetta with Near. Fucking people was hardly conducive to success; this was the sad but incredibly true fact of things.

"I would never expect that from someone like you," he said. Mello didn't bother to state why, though he had many reasons. Perhaps the biggest one was that it was hard to imagine living a normal life after Wammy's, the way Matt did. In a way, the blonde was jealous.

Matt chuckled and shrugged, oblivious to Mello's jealousy. Really, to him, a normal life was all he'd known. Even Wammy's was normal. Wammy's was just another place with a bunch of kids and they were smart. That was all. There was L, and that was pretty surreal–but then L died. And now, now they were caught up in this big case and this big scene and just... Everything seemed so...fake. And he supposed, that was the part that Mello knew, and the clubbing and the sex and the alcohol was the 'normal' part. But to Matt, all that blended together into something that was basically a day-to-day existence. That was, of course, until he'd decided to help Mello. Sure, the Kira case was just in and out, and Mello's hate for Near leaked on to Matt, but it was all mostly blurry, even if it was going on presently. But…there was something about Mello that just made life seem real.

But Matt would never say so.

"Why not?" he asked finally, raising his head to look directly at the blonde now.

"Well," he said, contemplating on a phrasing that would fit the situation. Mello decided to leave out half of his reasons because most of them were either embarrassing to himself or Matt, and although didn't care all too much about the other's discomfiture, he himself would rather seem unaffected.

"I can't see you with a girl," the blonde stated after awhile. "You seem too withdrawn. But hell if I know you. And I could never see you going out and picking up chicks, or anybody for that matter. You're too wrapped up in your video games and that shit." Not necessarily substantial reasoning, but he didn't dare voice what he thought deeply, for even he didn't know what he wanted to say.

Matt, though, seemed to be satisfied with this. Maybe he was always a little too stupid–maybe he was always a little too shallow. He could feel that there might be something bubbling under the surface of Mello's words, but he didn't press it. He didn't want to. He didn't have the resolve. Matt laughed. "I guess so, but as things are, I'm nineteen years old. I get urges." And really, that was the only way that he could put it because Mello was right. Matt never really was with a girl. Between him and chicks, it was a mutual understanding. 'You're hot, I'm hot, let's do it.'

And then that was the end of it.

"Urges, huh?" Mello stated first, snorting slightly. Of course, everyone had urges, but hearing this from Matt's mouth as an explanation was quite amusing. Maybe even more than that. What was more amusing, however, was how their conversation had suddenly turned to a more erotic light, and now, he couldn't even remember what they had been originally talking about.

"Yeah."

Matt almost grinned. "Y'know, I think you know me better than you're giving yourself credit for," he said calmly in a rare moment of reflection.

An expression of intrigue crossed his face. "Oh, really?" Honestly, Mello never took the time to know anyone. Of course he had memorized the other's idiosyncrasies, the little things that set him apart, and maybe sometimes he could almost exactly predict his thoughts and opinions, but that was as far as it stretched.

"Yeah, now would you quit questioning everything I say?"

"Alright, alright." Mello stared off at the wall opposite of him, still idly pondering the other's words to such a degree that he barely heard Matt in time when he started speaking again.

"And yeah. I think you do. Don't ask me why I think so, though." Matt said this because he really didn't know why he thought so. Maybe because he was just comfortable around Mello–he was casual with everyone else, but he was comfortable around Mello. There was a difference. Really.

The conversation, while it had its points, was dwindling off now. It was getting to the point where he forgot his original task: his work. He sighed, closing his eyes for a minute and opening them to stare not at the equipment around him, but at his clothes. The leather was squeaking more often than usual, almost like a protest. His body had been enclosed in the same ensemble for days, and had only ever washed his hair in the past many hours. Perhaps that was because he wanted to keep at least a decent hygiene, even if that meant being lazy and only tending to his hair. It was all the same, he supposed.

Matt followed Mello's gaze to his clothing, blinking slowly at the attire before remembering that these were the clothes that Matt had seen Mello in for the past three days. "Go change," he said suddenly, like this was something he could just make Mello do.

He regarded Matt for a moment, seriously considering retorting something condescending just for the sake of it, since he didn't like being told what to do even if he did want to do it, but he really did want to change. "Yeah... I need it," he said, surprising Matt with his compliance. The truth of the matter was that he wanted to get out of that room. Sitting in one place talking to Matt was... different, and he felt strange because of it. Maybe a change in scene would help things.

The bedroom scene wasn't exactly ideal, Mello realized as he walked in, but it suited his needs of slipping out of his shirt and slipping into another one before beginning to slide out of his pants, wincing as the leather peeled from his thighs with a squelching sound.

Matt had something of a short attention span. After sitting there, jiggling his foot for a few minutes, he decided that he ought to go fetch himself a shirt. Of course, he could have picked a more adequate time to go do that–but he wanted to see if he could surprise Mello in the midst of undressing. Why, he wasn't entirely sure. Probably just for kicks.

"Need help?" he taunted as he wandered in the door, hardly giving Mello any more than a passing glance as he moved to his dresser drawers. The second one was already open, which allowed him to easily pluck out a striped, black and white shirt.

Mello growled, tugging on new pants as Matt strode in. "Was it necessary for you to walk in here?" he demanded, now fully dressed.

"Yeah," Matt deftly answered, somehow managing to convince both his arms to slide through their proper holes once he managed to get his shirt over his head.

Rolling his eyes, Mello pulled on his boots as well to get the full effect. He predicted he may go somewhere later anyway. There was always a method for his madness. "I know I'm incredibly attractive, but you're going to have to restrain yourself."

"Right, right, me and my urges won't bother you." A smile played in his blue-green eyes, both hidden behind his tinted goggles. "Planning on going somewhere?"

"Later," he admitted, chuckling lightly—very lightly—at the mentioning of before. "But first...I think I may call Hal. Not now, though, because I have some things I need to look up."

Matt inwardly grinned at the fact that he managed to get the smallest of laughs out of Mello. He knew that Mello was way too wound up–he had every right to be, of course, but Matt liked to see him lighten up every once in a while. The red-haired gamer nodded in response to Mello's needing to call Hal, heading out of the bedroom to go find his handheld, wherever he'd put it.

"I have a plan," he added. "But like I said… I'm going to need your help."

Keen to hear what the blonde's plan was, Matt stopped in the door way. When he heard that Mello would be require his help, he only gave a wry smirk. "What else am I here for?" he questioned almost airily. "Are you filling me in yet, then?"

"I will after I talk to Hal."

"Okay," Matt answered simply, heading out to find his handheld. He ended up circling the living room once before he found it between the lamp and the shot glass on the beaten table. How it got there, he wasn't quite sure.

Mello followed Matt into the living room, mulling still over the plan that would only work if Matt knew every detail. Still, it would be dangerous. It made him rather hesitant to resort to something like it, but he had done far worse in the past.

Then why did this bug him so much?

He thought this over with a pronounced frown, waiting for the other to leave so he could return to the semi-circle of laptops that was just calling his name. Maybe he was worried more because… well… He was dragging the red head into certain death, and he knew that Matt was too loyal to say no. It made him rather angry.

A second after he flicked the game on, though, he looked up at Mello. "Something wrong?" he questioned, although he was very well aware that something was. Something was always wrong–and in this case, something was especially wrong.

Mello began his usual angry routine: stomping around and scowling fiercely, he picked up a laptop and shoved it into his own lap, pounding on the keyboard furiously. He had too much to do. "It's just you," he said, quite casually, Googling Takada Kiyomi and her future appearances, along with what type of security she kept with her at what times. This latter was harder to research, since it wasn't a typical thing to look for, but scanning clips of her on her Kira talk shows and studying pictures of her out in the open gave him a general idea. Shit did she keep a lot of people with her... It only made Mello wonder what she was preparing for.

"Me?" he questioned, though, taken back a little once he realized exactly what it was that Mello had said. "What did I do this time?" He asked this like it wasn't him they were talking about–almost like someone else had affronted Mello and Matt was trying to make it better.

"What honestly can you be gaining from helping me?" he accused, as though wanting to help was one of the original sins. He didn't say any more for the moment, too engrossed in his task to keep a focus on the conversation. Still, that ideation was nagging at his subconscious, mostly telling him that it was dangerous to worry about things like that. What happened, happened, and it was Matt's choice--and his alone--to assist. But it didn't always feel that way.

Matt shrugged a little–although it was more of a half shrug than anything. He shrugged with one shoulder, his right shoulder, and then relaxed back into playing his game with lightning fast fingers. "I donno. You're my friend. I help you, you don't kill me, win-win situation, right?" Matt answered, dodging the subject just as much as Mello was.

What he did say was that helping Mello achieve what he wanted allowed Matt to want something; wanting something was not a thing that Matt had openly done in the past. Not seriously. Not like Mello.

"I wouldn't kill you," the elder said, affronted slightly by this, though he knew it wasn't completely serious. He didn't like to think that he was someone who would openly kill people because they opposed him or said something he didn't like. Then again, he did shoot Matt without a thought about it beforehand just because he had compared him to someone who was now dead, and someone who was living far above him. Alright, so he had a point. "Maybe I'd get pissed at you and threaten you, but I'd never kill you." There was a pause. "I'd probably just end up leaving."

Matt winced. "Leaving's pretty bad too, Mello," he commented. It almost seemed to be light, the way he said it, but since the blonde knew Matt since Wammy's, he should have seen the dark undertone hiding in his voice. "I don't want you to leave. I'd rather leave you first."

"You could refuse. You know, when people get roped in with me, they end up dead. You're going to die, and it's because you never refuse to help me."

"Okay, then it's just because you're a friend." Mello was saying something about dying and Matt didn't exactly think that his possibility of death was up too high while he sat in front of a laptop in his cozy little apartment. "Just, if I die, don't make it an accident." Matt was vaguely surprised that he was still playing his video game. "If I die, make it count."

Mello could almost feel the mood drop, just like before, except now was different. It was as if all the warmth in the room had siphoned away, but it wasn't completely gone; it had just floated off into some sort of distant place, where they could still see it, but couldn't quite feel it. It almost made the blonde shiver. He couldn't help it.

In the past, the blonde had always threatened to leave, and often times, he actually did. But eventually...he would come back, whether he felt it was the right thing to do. Maybe if he just stayed away, it wouldn't be a problem. Yet he couldn't do that. It was as if he was afraid to, and he found that to be a weakness.

"Trust me, Matt," he said, tone as hard as it would ever get, so soft that you had to strain to hear each individual syllable. You would think that Mello only had three phases of volume: angry loud, pissed off louder, and the wrathful loudest. This bitter monotone was, although not unheard of, quite rare. "I never leave permanently. You know that." The corners of his lips twitched. He had admitted a weakness, or at least, a semblance of one.

Mello honestly felt stupid, for a lot of reasons. For one, he had confessed already too much, and now that he was being further, he couldn't exactly explain. Of course he stayed because one, Matt was useful. Actually, useful was an understatement. Not only was he good with computers and could go through with nearly every plot Mello could conjure, but he was damn loyal. It was very clear that the younger would die for him, or at least come close.

"I know," he said finally in regards to Mello's never leaving for good. That didn't stop him from thinking that Mello might, though. One day, just like back in Wammy's... For a person who didn't care, it was weird how seriously one event would affect Matt if it was the right event. "Why don't you? Leave, I mean."

"Because I'd have no where else to go," he said, rather feebly. This was a half-lie, since he could probably get another place to stay if he needed it. "And because I couldn't tolerate anywhere else." This next was closer to the truth.

Where Matt had actually sworn off friends for some time after Mello had left Wammy's and left him, Mello had little reason like that. Friends were simply a rare luxury that the blonde didn't want to associate himself with. Unfortunately, Matt had become a friend anyway. That was why he stayed. He didn't know how close he would be to Kira without Matt, and sometimes he figured he'd be dead. That, however, was never uttered. It was almost a sin for Mello to admit any sort of need for another person. He freely devoted himself to objects and ideas, but living dependence was another thing. A forbidden thing.

"Well at least I'm good for that," the gamer answered, almost bitterly.

"You've already helped me enough, Matt, goddamn." All Mello had been originally looking for was a place to stay and a little cooperation. Now, though, the red head had given him not only cooperation, but his life, too. It was insane.

"Well, what else am I supposed to do? If I refused you, what kind of friend would I be then?"

"It's not about being a friend. It's being stupid. Being a friend is letting me stay with you and using your shit. But this is like you don't even care about if you live or die."

All Matt did was shrug and answer. "I know."

There was a pause. "You _have_ to care about that."

Another pause. Then, Matt said, "Okay. Maybe it's stupid. And maybe I do care. But…I dunno, Mello. I don't feel too strongly for just anything, but if I do, I'm willing to die for it." The thought of getting himself killed was almost frightening to Matt, but...he was okay with it.

"It's needless to die for a lost cause," he pointed out. "I'm ready to die to beat Near, but it isn't your thing." Not that he didn't want his help. He needed it, actually, if this plan was to work the way he intended it. True, he could pay some other sap to do the job, but it just wasn't the same as getting Matt's help.

Matt jabbed a button on his video game. He wasn't interested in what was needless or not–if anything, he would think that Mello's willingness to die for an intangible cause was odd. If Mello died, he wouldn't be able to relish in his victory, would he? And even if he did beat Near, Near wouldn't really care, would he? And if Mello beat Near and Mello died, and Matt happened to still be around, Matt certainly wouldn't be happy now, would he?

"Then are you saying you're a lost cause?" he questioned, jabbing harder at his handheld. "I never really know what I want. What I want never stays the same either, so what does it matter what I'm willing to die for?"

Mello pointedly decided to ignore the first question, deeming it unimportant. And chances were Matt wouldn't even care if he didn't answer, given that his attention span was fracturing to several different things, and different thought topics.

"Exactly," he said, instead addressing the second question. "If what you want never stays the same, and you want to die for something right now, you'll regret it because later on down the line, that thing won't be all that important to you anymore. And then you won't be able to regret it, or do it over, because you'll be dead."

It was a rather good point, if he said so himself, given that Matt's reasoning made no sense at all. If he was so flighty in his needs and desires, what was the point in focusing on something that could be redundant later?

Matt noticed that Mello didn't answer his question, but he didn't push it. Honestly, it was a valid question and he had been hoping he might get a valid answer out of it, but he hadn't really been banking on it. It hadn't seemed like a question Mello would answer, after all.

He looked up at the blonde for a moment, then back to his game. True, his attention was split in multiple ways, but he was coherent, wasn't he? Admittedly, Mello had cornered him using his own thinking, and Matt had learned of this back in Wammy's... But he'd never minded his mouth and he didn't see any reason, even when it contradicted him. What he thought and what he said and what he felt rarely matched up anyways. "But you'd think that if you felt strongly about something for a long time when you're as indecisive as me, that thing's gotta mean something important, right?"

"Important, maybe," he confirmed. "But not important enough to throw your life away for."

"So you're not important enough," Matt commented–it wasn't a question. It was a statement; it was a challenge, almost.

"I just don't see why you have to make me important," he said. Of course he considered himself important; he had thrown away dozens of other lives for his own cause before.. He hadn't cared when the entire mafia behind him had been killed by Kira. He hadn't cared when he slaughtered people to get where he was. That didn't matter for some reason while the red head's life did, even if Mello was sure that Matt wasn't doing anything with the life he had. Maybe that was just because ambition was such a familiar thing to the blonde; he assumed everyone else had the same track mind about the situation.

"Friendship is all well and good, but you shouldn't be ready to die for just anyone." That was Mello's philosophy, after all. He had never cared for anyone enough to be ready to die for him, so it was a completely foreign concept for him to grasp.

"You're not just anyone." If Mello didn't understand why he was important, that was fine to Matt, because Matt didn't really know how to explain it. Mello was important to Matt just because he was. They'd grown close pretty quickly back at Wammy's. Not close by the normal standards, by any means, but... close enough. Finally, Matt looked up at Mello with a strange severity on his features. "Are you a lost cause?"

Ah. So they had come back to that...

"Yeah," he said. A plain, unconcerned, monosyllabic reply. But he was far from unconcerned. He was beyond that, ever since their conversation escalated from a fight to a discussion about death, to wondering exactly where they stood with each other. Half of the conversation was nonverbal; they merely felt the response in the atmosphere, which was now dreary and strangely serious. Like everything was banking on Mello's answer.

Everything _was_ banking on Mello's answer.

Kind of.

Matt continued playing his game, but his ninja was getting hit by cars, running into trees, falling through windows, drowning, et cetera. He wasn't really paying attention to it.

"I guess you kind of are," Matt agreed finally. It didn't make sense, then, that he'd die for a lost cause–but Mello was...a lost cause with a goal. Maybe his goal was only to defeat Near, but Matt thought that it was good enough. Matt didn't want for Mello to be happy, or satisfied, or successful. He just wanted to be there for Mello, and that in itself was inexplicable... but he found himself wanting to try and explain himself anyways. He really couldn't, though.

Right then, he kind of wanted to punch Mello again, but this time, he wanted to punch Mello so Mello would finally get the idea.

Sadly enough, Matt didn't think that would work.

"Is the idea that I'd die for you that hard for you to get?"

"Yeah, it is," he said. "That may not make sense, but I'm thinking the way I think, really. I couldn't imagine anyone being important enough...maybe that's just me."

Mello sighed. Though this wasn't necessarily as complicated as it was, he still found it oddly puzzling. They were both thinking different things. Matt just wanted to be there for Mello, while Mello wanted to beat Near without having to lose the other's life. His own was just fine, but if the red head died in that process, he would feel the same guilt that he did when he shot Matt himself. Though he wouldn't be directly killing the other, it would be almost an equivalent. Just because it was his fault; that was the thing... he wouldn't be able to live with the guilt.

"Maybe it is just you," Matt echoed, sounding somewhat remorseful that Mello wouldn't understand him. He had a feeling that no matter how much he explained, Mello wouldn't ever get it because he'd never feel that way. Or at least, Matt didn't think so. He put his game aside, running his hand back through his red hair like he could extract his thoughts and show them in tangible form to Mello. He couldn't, of course. "You know," he started, eyeing Mello like he was reading his thoughts as well as an open book. "If I die, it's more my fault than yours." After all, Mello had said it himself. It was Matt who never questioned that Mello would eventually lead him to his death.

"But I'll always know, Matt," he said, trying to enforce his point; he wanted the other to know exactly why he said what he did, and why he was so worried. He would never say the word 'worry' straight out, though. "I'll always know that it was because of me that you got dragged into this. I'd always wonder if I would've done something different, I could have saved your life." Mello was explaining too much again. Sometimes he wished he had that admiral self-control that Near and L did. They could always conceal their feelings like pros.

Hearing Mello fathom a way to operate that would save his life struck a chord in Matt. Quickly, his stomach knotted and released itself in a way that made him queasy. "Well," Matt stated, unable to get his words straight. Maybe that was because he really had no words–his mind was just swimming with whatever Mello was saying.

"You know Mello, you were never really good at controlling your emotions," Matt commented all of the sudden, almost stupidly. But he continued. "You never could in Wammy's, either. You'd come storming to my room, complaining about Near and just be really... really angry. I always thought that was funny."

"Was it really? What makes you bring that up, anyway?" Suddenly, Mello wished he were back at Wammy's. It was that bubbling sickness that always forced its way into his gut when he thought about simpler times, even if they weren't as simple as an ordinary childhood. That just darkened his mood, thinking about how life was then in comparison to how it had turned out.

Matt laughed a little, not really sure why he found any part of this situation funny anymore. Maybe it was because he didn't feel like he laughed enough, lately, and he wanted to put an end to that. Or maybe he was just being weird–or slightly delusional thanks to the pain killers.

"Because you were talking a lot, and talking a lot makes it easy for people to guess what you're thinking if they know what kind of person you are," Matt answered simply. That was indeed, the truth. He, despite a vague wish not to violate Mello, had been attempting to make some headway in why Mello did what he did. "Don't you think about it sometimes anyway?"

"Think about what?" Mello probably knew; in fact, he was sure he already knew what Matt was talking about, but it was better--safer, maybe--to hear things come directly from the other's mouth. Though Mello had not been apt to figure Matt out, as the other was doing to him, and because he still did not understand his desire to lay his life on the line for him, he felt that he needed to understand a bit more.

_You know me better than you give yourself credit for._

The blonde was beginning to doubt this.

Matt closed his eyes, tipping his red-haired head back against the crook of the couch and breathing a soft exhale. He pictured smoke curling away from him, but failed to hypnotize himself into thinking that he could taste the smoke. "Wammy's. Near, L. The past. Stuff," Matt answered. He wasn't really one to dwell on past happenings, he really preferred focusing on the present–but Wammy's had been where he'd met Mello. It was natural for him to pay too much attention to it.

"What are you planning?" he asked suddenly, realizing that he felt vaguely sick. It was probably nostalgia, but he was hoping it was just apprehension so that Mello clearing things up would make him feel eons better.

Mello almost laughed at this. If he did, though, it would have been a hollow laugh, a humourless chuckle that was directed to nothing in particular. He shifted his gaze to the other, almost pitying him for some reason. A shake of the head brought him back to the present, and he sighed, ignoring the answer he was given in favour of answering the latter question: what exactly the blonde had in mind.

"We're going to kidnap Kiyomi Takada," he said tonelessly. That was all he needed to know, because though Matt played a small part, it was vital and dangerous. The reaction of the crowd and Takada's guards were key. It really was a reckless move.

If anything, Mello's plan just made Matt feel even worse. The knotting of his stomach was still painfully present every few minutes, tightening its grip on him and making him feel a pang whenever he thought that Mello might feel guilt over his death. Maybe he was just being conceited, because guilt didn't seem like a very Mello thing to feel... But Matt couldn't help but to hope–not that he wished the blonde ill.. It was just, if Mello felt guilt over Matt, it was proof that he meant something.

"We're going to kidnap the most famous and revered face in Japan," Matt echoed in a distorted fashion. "Are you fucking nuts?" Maybe that was why Matt felt like he was going to die–he damn well was.

"Fucking nuts, maybe," said Mello absently, frowning as he did so. "But if this works, we'll be closer to Kira than humanly possible."

"You might want to be careful how close you get," Matt pointed out gravely, slowly. "The other L knows your name from that break in. So Kira knows your name. All he needs is your face and you're a goner," Matt told Mello, secretively insinuating that Kira would nail Mello before he actually beat Near in anything, except getting killed.

"I know," the elder growled. "Shut up. I've thought about it."

Matt regarded the other for a long moment, wondering how much thought Mello really had given this. Still, though, he never had truly questioned anything Mello said and he didn't think now was any time to change. If it meant a Hell-bound route to possible victory, to Hell they went.

"Yeah. Don't worry. I believe you."


	9. Chapter 9

**kyu.**

"You know, we really are kind of a depressing pair." After the Takada discussion, Mello put this fact into plain sight.

"Don't you think that would give us incentive to talk about happier things? Instead of, you know, death and faith and lost causes and all this bull shit?"

"If we want to talk about something happy, how about a plan that isn't a suicide mission?" Matt proposed.

"I'm not changing my mind," the blonde reminded forcefully.

Matt shrugged. He didn't think that there was any harm in considering their options, but if the other was so adamantly opposed...

Then again, they didn't have too many options, and Matt would admit that the outcomes of managing to wrangle Takada into their midst were pretty damn good. Then again, if she got to be too much of a problem, Kira might kill her—unless he was planning on using her to get to Mello first.

"I have no other effective way to do this."

Mello paused, turning to look at Matt for a longer time than he had all day. "But again, you can always back out. People are easily bent to cooperation with just the right persuasion." A dangerous undertone developed in this last statement,

"No, I can't always back out. I told you I'd help, didn't I?" the redhead pressed. Besides, the idea of sitting at home while Mello was out abducting Kira's spokeswoman was a little more than unnerving.

"Fine," said Mello, as though this settled the matter. He propped his jawbone up with his knuckles, reclining coolly against the arm of the couch. "You're going to have to get a gun." It was strange, to think of Matt carrying a gun, and even stranger still to think of him actually having to use it. Of course, it was necessary for quite a few purposes, though he hoped that self-defense didn't have to be one of them. Takada's guards looked pretty tough, but even they wouldn't shoot Matt unprovoked if he kept quiet and played the innocent. At least, that was what he hoped.

"Okay," Matt answered without commitment, the same way he always did to strange prepositions. To him, the thought of owning a gun or using it was weird too—Mello had always been the one with guns, in Matt's humble opinion.

He fished out his cigarettes, awkwardly lighting it a little lower than he ordinarily would have if he felt like bringing his hands all the way up to his mouth. He tucked his lighter away. "Who am I hopefully not shooting, then?" he posed, wondering if Mello somehow was thinking of him going against Takada's fanatic guards. That, if anything, promised certain death.

"Anyone who happens to come after you," he said casually, not quite implying that, yes, there was a good chance that he would have to go up against Takada's guards. Some things were better left unsaid, or to the imagination. This was, more or less, applicable to both.

He stared at the process of lighting the cigarette, his expression caught in the struggle between disapproval and acceptance. Naturally, these two conflicting sentiments cancelled each other out, leaving Mello to exhale in apparent annoyance and turn his gaze away. Later he'd find the package (even though he was the one who had bought it) and empty a few rounds into it.

Matt couldn't help but to fuel his growing addiction, even if he was inside the apartment or not. In his state, he didn't think that Mello would force him outside at gunpoint to smoke or anything, so he felt pretty safe lighting up where he was. Even if it wasn't the best idea...he would have done it anyways.

"Right..." Matt answered blandly, closing his eyes as he exhaled a curl of smoke. It tasted bitter on his tongue—he'd always liked flavoured nicotine, even if the taste had been strange and artificial. "Remind me again—why are we taking the stupid approach?"

Mello hissed at the other, flashing him a venomous look before allowing his face to wipe clean of emotion and turn back to the pallid glow in front of him. It remained uninteresting. Still, he wanted to occupy his restless mind with something akin to research before he called Hal. Once that happened, there would be no going back on his arrangement. No matter how averse he was to have one of his plans called stupid, it was true. This was the stupid way to find Kira, if not a little desperate.

Matt shrugged a little in response to Mello's all-too positive reaction to his little query there. It wasn't like he wouldn't carry out Mello's plans to their fullest and indubitably do whatever it was that the blonde told him—he just wasn't too keen on firing at Takada's guards, who looked like they'd shoot down a toddler if he happened to be anti-Kira. Therefore, this was the stupid way. But hell, if it was going to work for Mello, it would work.

"Just saying," Matt went on to state, "if I end up dying now, I won't be around to help you with a smarter plan," he pointed out. After all, finding Kira wasn't going to be the end of it.

Not by a long shot.

"Then you think of something, idiot," Mello snarled, now positively uncaring as to if Matt died in his struggle. Of course, that would change, but when his temper was provoked even in the slightest, he would blatantly decide to be indifferent about anyone other than himself. It was a vicious cycle that kept the blonde under a soothing facade of normalcy. It was odd how selfishness placated him.

He shifted, lifting the laptop off of his burning thighs and setting it on the ground, where it whirred indignantly at its misplacement amongst a mass of wires and cords.

"Be nice to the technology," Matt reprimanded half-heartedly, clearly teasing as he always did. He knew that Mello was in a bad mood, but to the redhead—times like these were the best times to fuck around.

Mello shrugged. It was a carefree gesture, but his expression didn't match it at all. A sort of grimace had plastered itself there, and it lingered until he rested back against the seat. Later, he resolved. Procrastinating was never his style, and neither was being apprehensive about something he was about to do, but it seemed as though there was a first for everything; even a stomach that was currently rejecting the idea of chocolate.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied curtly. He almost added on a scornful retort, but decided to let it go. It would accomplish nothing, to be honest. "You know that I'm not going to give you special treatment for too long." The elder was, of course, addressing the cigarette. "You're going to have to go outside eventually."

Matt chuckled, clearly amused by Mello's casual demeanor, despite the fact that he wasn't much one to be like that. Matt, of course, would know.

"Of course," he commented with a shrug, waving his cigarette around pointedly. He smoked inside anyways—mostly, he obliged Mello's wishes to go out to do it...but for the most part, he was too lazy.

"You're the only one who would make me smoke outside after mortally wounding me, and I'm the only one who would take it," he teased, waggling the cigarette in Mello's direction and deftly tapping the ashes off of it into a shot glass. "I knew you weren't going soft."

"How could you ever think that?" asked Mello, chancing the ghost of a smile. You would have to look extremely closely to detect the weariness behind it, and even then it wasn't evident. After all, despite the ease in which the blonde revealed his emotions, he never wanted to appear as if he was exhausted or worried. Only in few cases, and in most of those cases, no one was around to see. Matt had had the fortune of witnessing his worry.

Unfortunately, though, he probably would never see it again.

"I don't know," Matt answered, eyeing Mello for a second. He, being Mello's old-time friend, searched for evidence of Mello getting tired because honestly, he had no idea how Mello could keep such a fast-paced life, never take a break, and never chill out a bit. This time, he swore he saw something of it, but...he didn't really try to pry. As observant as he could be sometimes, he didn't have the resolve to really look.

"I have an active imagination," he ventured. "The video games do it to me."

He cracked some semblance of a smile as he took a long drag off his cigarette, taking full advantage of the fact that Mello wasn't kicking him out to smoke yet.

"If you have such an active imagination, why do you always reject my plans? You should be full of your own schemes," Mello rebuted.

"They breach anything I could dream of...?" Matt laughed at his less-than-convincing attempt to accommodate his rejection. "My schemes all involve video games somehow," he lied smoothly—although for the most part, it was kind of true.

"I should have known, then."

What could the blonde honestly expect from a smoking gamer? Obedience, for one thing. Maybe he wanted something else. Better plans would be nice, but that wasn't what he had in mind.

Matt arched a brow at the other—another thing about being a long time friend of Mello was that Matt could generally tell when Mello had something on his mind. There was a subtle change in the way he worded things—or maybe, he was just kidding himself and he had sixth sense. That would be pretty badass.

"Yeah, you should have," Matt responded casually, puffing smoke in Mello's general direction. "What're you thinking about?" he asked after a lapse of silence, quite pointedly and curtly, actually.

Of course, Mello had no intention of spilling his thoughts to Matt. It was all apart of his desire to keep as much to himself as possible. If someone knew you too well, they had a weapon against you. Not that Mello thought that Matt was considering using anything against him. Maybe for blackmail in the dealings of smoking outside, but nothing serious.

"Nothing," he answered, brushing off the question as he did the smoke that was billowing his way. "Just your future. I see lung cancer."

"I see me dying faster than that."

"And I thought I was the cynical one," commented Mello offhandedly. He glared pointedly at Matt, as though wondering if he would say something else, though he knew that nothing else was coming. So, in response to the silence, he mimicked the redhead's earlier question: "What are _you_ thinking about?"

"Beating my high score in Blades of Fury," Matt answered immediately, delivering the answer that he knew Mello was expecting to hear—or at least, he gave what he was guessing Mello was expecting to hear. No doubt the other was thinking that all he would think about was videogames and things of lesser importance than the Kira case. Maybe, even with the true answer, he still was.

"I'm also thinking about how you're a douche because you act like a rock and I know differently, He-Who-Used-To-Have-Nightmares-and-Kick-Me-and-Cry," Matt told Mello with a wan grin growing on his features.

Mello had been satisfied with the first response, but frowned immediately when the next followed. It wasn't as though the answer pissed him off as much as it confused him. Maybe he was just too used to only divulging what was necessary. Matt, however, seemed sincere.

Still, he reached out to yank the cigarette from Matt's fingers. "Oh?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow. "You think you know so much about me?"

Matt, strangely, was quite pleased to have elicited that kind of reaction out of Mello—or maybe, he was just pleased to have gotten a reaction out of the other at all. He smiled faintly, seeming a lot like a roguish dog.

"Hey," he protested when Mello snatched his cigarette away, scowling slightly. He was, however, successfully deterred by Mello's question.

"Well if I think about it, I spent almost ten years at Wammy's, and most of it was with you." Matt responded. "Maybe not 'so much', but more than most people."

"We've known each other that long?" Mello inquired to no one in particular. The blonde shook his head to himself and flicked the cigarette on the pile of wires below him before cocking an eye toward the other again. "I'm surprised you're not sick of me."

Hell knew he was sick of himself.

"Mello," Matt stated with the air of a parent scolding a child who had done something particularly exasperating. "If you're not careful, you'll set something on fire," he patiently told the other with a shake of his head. "And yeah, we've known each other for that long." He shrugged. "Honestly, I'm surprised too. I don't think I could get sick of you though...I 'unno. You're you."

Mello ignored the reminder about the cigarette, finding it funny how Matt was chastising him about the proper treatment of a cigarette. In fact, he even laughed a little after the fact, before retaining his composure and leaning back again. It was strangely satisfying, what Matt had said afterward. It was sort of like reassurance.

Of what, he had yet to fathom. Somehow, though, he didn't want to. Ignorance was, after all, bliss.

"I'm me?" he said, snorting a little bit. "What's me like?"

Matt smiled faintly—he was always happy over the stupidest things with Mello. The blonde had laughed, and Matt just felt like Jesus came bursting out of his floor. Well, not quite that good, but almost.

"You?" Matt echoed, leaning back into the couch and blinking slowly behind his goggles. That was a tough question. "Infuriating," he stated, for one. He couldn't come up with much more. "Complicated. Dumbass. Asshat. Annoying." Okay, so it was coming a little easier now that he could throw some insults in there too. "Weird as fuck. Douche. Compelling, motivating, cap...captivating..."

Mello absorbed each description with a grain of salt, knowing that he deserved most of the insults thrown at him. He could take it, as long as none of them were too personal. However, as the list drew on, he couldn't help but tilt his head, intrigued.

"Captivating?" he questioned, grinning again. He had never heard such a word used in allusion to himself, though he couldn't say he was angry at it. The only sentiment he could conjure was interest, and another few unnamed. Amusement, maybe.

"Yeah," Matt admitted begrudgingly. Unlike Mello, he wasn't one to fuck up and say 'nevermind' and pretend he never said anything incriminating. He had, after all, caught himself in the middle of the word and continued on, however embarrassing the thought might be. "You've got to be for me to stick around this long," he stated in a manner of half-teasing.

Contrasting before, Mello's grin lingered. No matter how abnormal the conversation may have been, he still found it intriguing. Perhaps it was because they were talking about him; no one disliked a conversation about themselves.

"Yeah, I suppose I'd have to be in some way, if all other times I'm an asshat," he commented, poking fun at the other's vocabulary.

"Shut up," he told the blonde, snorting indifferently. New and strange words just came to him in a profoundly haphazard way. It was probably all the gaming and smoke going to his head.

"Maybe that's what is so captivating about me?" He cast a lazy glare at Matt. Was that why he hung around? It was because of the loyalty, sure, and his skill in computers and helping track down Kira, but captivating...

He tried to apply that term to the redhead. No, there, it was something else.

He scrutinized Mello in an attempt to figure out what he was thinking—at least he wasn't weirded out. That wouldn't be too good.

"You're a fucking amoeba. Or an enigma."

He figured that he meant enigma, but amoeba worked too. "Changing and weird and…difficult."

"You're an honest fucker, you know that?" Mello mused, pursing his lips together in a thin line.

"Yeah, I know." Matt answered, almost scowling. "I've been told."

"It's..." What was it? Mello couldn't think. Nice to know? Comforting? Annoying? All of the above, probably.

"It's what?" The red-head prompted, rolling his gaze curiously to Mello.

"Different," Mello said, with an unwavering note of finality. That word combined all the elements of the ones he had been thinking, and did so in a very neutral way. He was glad he had discovered it before something else slipped out, something that he shouldn't—wouldn't—have said.

"Different?" Matt repeated, wondering why exactly he felt vaguely let down. Not really, though. He had, perhaps though, been thinking something not so...equivocal. Mello was always like that. Mello was such a dishonest and evasive bastard in comparison to Matt.

"Yeah," the blonde responded very sincerely. There was some hint of Wammy's in his gaze before he averted it to the wrinkled joints of the leather on his thigh. Idly, he ran a finger over the material, feeling the grooves that the gathered leather made closer to the bent knee. He was fascinated by the oddest of things; that was most likely why he wore what he did and had habits and idiosyncrasies that set him apart. Nearly everyone in Wammy's did, whether they knew it or not. Those differences sort of grew on them, until they were no longer of the world. They were something else.

Matt would beg to differ. Even though he had, admittedly, spent most of his younger years counting pixels on electric screens and pretending to smoke lollipop sticks, those were things he'd done as a kid. Therefore, now, he would like to think, he was fairly normal and would be living a perfectly boring, cut-and-dry hacker life if Mello hadn't come along. Not that this was necessarily a bad thing.

"I don't see what's so great about this," Matt stated, suddenly two feet closer than he had been to Mello, one of his own fingers tracing along a zig-zag of leather by the crook of Mello's knee.

Mello was something akin to at a loss for words.

"It's…different."

His attention was drawn by the contact that sort of shocked him in the way being doused in cold water would. It was less surprising when the other had punched him, because it was expected. Mello had it coming.

Matt continued to keep close contact—knowing that for one, it fucked with Mello a bit and he liked that. He had always had a knack for wanting to unhinge the impassive other—most of the time he failed, but that was all right. He tried.

"Different like me and my honesty?"

"No."

It wasn't the answer Mello expected from himself. He was just too bothered by the scrutiny; it made him feel like he was being searched for everything he wanted to keep hidden.

"Like you and the way I can't fucking figure you out."

That was the thing Mello hated most besides being outmatched, wasn't it? Things beyond his control. The unexpected, like a sharp turn left on a roller coaster when you think you're going right. It wasn't hate, though, that made him uncomfortable with unpredictability.

For once, Matt felt like he was going somewhere with Mello. For once, he felt like he wasn't grappling for conversation, or grappling to keep his head, or...or dragging behind in Mello's tirade for success. For once, he felt like he was on the same level as the blonde, that he was paying attention to him. This was, for some reason, fairly reminiscent of his being shot—but he figured that this was better. Much better.

"Really," Matt answered blandly, blinking slowly. It was obvious he wasn't just being bored and evasive, though, and that showed by the mere fact that his finger stopped somewhere on the lower part of the side of Mello's thigh.

"You try to figure me out?" It wasn't quite a change of direction, but there was some curious new air in his query.

The continued contact almost made Mello squirm. Almost. His selective way of expressing things kept him from displaying his discomfiture, but it had to channel somewhere. So it turned into irritation, and that irritation flitted across his face.

"I fucking live with you, Matt," said the male wearily. "You don't think I want to understand you? You and your video games and disgusting cigarettes? I've known you for years, and you don't think it's not just a little sad that I still can't predict you?" There he went, divulging things that were meant to follow him to his grave. Still, it tended to happen when he talked to the redhead. Strange, but true.

"No…not really," Matt answered, blinking slowly—innocently, even. "I can't predict you," he admitted—only sometimes. He could guess, but he wasn't always right. In fact, most of the time he wasn't right. So weren't they even?

"It's not the same," he pointed out exasperatedly, but left it at that. "I sort of..." Hell, if he was going to say something, he might as well say it all. Especially since he was probably going to get Matt killed sooner or later. "I need to understand you, or else I feel like that's just one more thing I can't do worth shit. Got it?" Towards the end of this, his tone became hardened, as though he was to the breaking point of explaining something that was just too obvious.

Matt regarded Mello for a long time before sighing.

"I guess."

Acting on an outrageous impulse, Matt leaned in to press his lips against Mello's, but missed by a couple centimeters. He grinned roguishly, somehow commanding his body to get up and move to avoid any punches that might come flying his way.

"Try understanding that."

Mello reeled. Even if he had thought of throwing a few punches, even for the hell of it, he couldn't quite find the motor skills to perform such an impossible task. So he settled for sitting and staring for the moment. But eventually, he had to react, and so he did, putting on an unreadable expression that matched quite nicely with his nonexistent thoughts.

"What was that?" he demanded, failing to make his voice sound firm. Of course he knew the physicality of what he had done, but the motive was another thing entirely. Was Matt fucking with him? He wouldn't put it past the gamer.

But somehow, that thought was disappointing.

In a way, though, Matt _was_ fucking with Mello. But that wasn't the sole reason.

Matt shrugged, leaning against the back of the couch now that he'd found his way around there in record time. Record time while wounded, though, wasn't exactly the smartest thing for Matt to achieve. In fact, he looked a bit woozy on his feet, but a playful grin counteracted that.

"I 'unno," he answered, although he evidently did. "You tell me."

Of course, he was still fucking with Mello.

The truth was buried deep inside of Matt—so deep, in fact, that sometimes he forgot about it. Like, times when he really thought about snogging the crap out of someone, or was snogging the crap out of someone…times when the real meaning of kisses occurred to him. But childish memories were hard to rid yourself of, and that was the truth.

Though he put up with Matt's mind-fuckery in small doses, when it was a casual thing that was to be expected on a pretty much regular basis, he had no intention of putting up with this sort of shit. So, he stood for the first time in awhile. Apparently, his body wasn't quite ready for this sudden change in position; his eyes clouded over with dark spots, blossoming brilliantly before subsiding so that Mello could properly glare at the gamer across the couch.

"Fuck you, Matt," he muttered, just standing there.

"Why, you won't tell me then?" Matt goaded, really having been hoping that he'd get an answer out of Mello. It would be interesting, really, to know what the other had to say to him about that...but if Mello was going to be a spoilsport...

Matt shrugged.

"I 'unno. It's stupid, really," he told Mello, blinking slowly behind his goggles as he stared off into the ceiling like he was pondering whether or not to tell the other.

"What's stupid?" he inquired, quite seriously, staring right through the redhead in front of him.

Matt knew very well that he had Mello's interest, and he was damn well going to keep it, thank you. Therefore, the gamer was dragging this out for as long as he could—and it was funny to see Mello react.

"Why I kissed you," he answered bluntly, knowing full well that this was the 'no shit' duh kind of obvious answer. "It's a really dumb reason. You'll probably want to shoot me or something."

"Not that it matters," added Mello through gritted teeth. Of course he was interested. "I shot you already. What have you to lose?"

There was the tiniest of points behind that question. Not that he planned to shoot the other again...he had learned his lesson, as it were. These things were a lot more complicated than they needed to be, though he vaguely knew that Matt was merely coaxing him to stay intrigued. Somehow, he didn't mind as much.

Matt laughed. "Hah, I almost forgot," he answered, smiling wryly. He hadn't, really; it was kind of hard to forget even with the pain killers, but Matt was good at ignoring things he didn't like. Mello did make a point though.

"Well," Matt started, feeling actually apprehensive for once. He didn't talk about his mother a lot, but he was about to. "My mom used to tell me that when you really cared about someone, you kissed them, and that would tell you why you cared about them so much."

And of course, coming from someone who was so hopelessly devoted to Mello for apparently no reason, this had to be pretty important.

"And...you know how we never really seem to get each other? I mean, we get it. But you don't know why I'd die for you and I don't know why you'd die for success you can't enjoy. Well, supposedly, kissing someone lets them know you care, and why, and how much. Least, that's what my mom used to say. But we know different now, right?"

Matt smiled his usual smile, but he almost seemed…sad.

Wow. It wasn't every day you heard that, and from Matt of all people.

To be honest, Mello had no idea what to say back, because the other had said it all. And for once, the truth didn't really piss the blonde off as much as he let on, or make him evasive. He just stared and drank it all in like he knew he shouldn't have, just for the sake of protecting himself from the sentiments he knew he couldn't conceal, like blessed L or infuriating Near. Still, though, he couldn't think of anything to reply that wouldn't sound completely stupid, which was veritably hard to do after that rhetoric. Then again, actions speak louder than words.

And so, Mello stomped up and put one hand on each of Matt's shoulder to kiss him in return, aiming well to connect his lips with the other's.

"What does that tell you?" he asked gruffly, pulling away.

Matt's blue-green eyes continued to stare at some spot just beyond his nose, having just as well spilled his guts out to the other. Of all the things he was waiting for Mello to say—he wasn't expecting Mello to _do_ anything. The kiss caught him off-guard, and for a second, he just stared at Mello incredulously, much like the other had done before.

"Tells me…that..."

Fuck, he needed to lie down, that's what it told him. Matt, being Matt, proceeded to slide sideways and flop against the arm of the seat.

His job being done, in an odd sense of the word, Mello leaned back. He cocked an eyebrow, now figuring that he had gained the upper hand in this back and forth, though it brought him no inherent satisfaction. This was a serious conversation, and though he usually would have welcomed a light victory, this wasn't one.

"What?"

He actually did want to know the answer. No, he needed to know the answer.

"That..." Matt struggled to come up with words—although his mother hadn't been a liar, it was a real stretch of the imagination to actually believe her words. "That... I think we're more than friends," Matt had to admit finally after much thought. It wasn't very deep thought—he couldn't really exercise his brain to think much more than 'man, am I dizzy' and 'fuck, my head hurts'.

What he did manage to get out, though, was that pitiful bit. He eyed Mello for a second, trying to think of exactly what kind of 'more than friends' he was figuring they had to be. "And...we're gonna be okay." He was saying that because he felt it. Even if he died within the next week, or even if Mello did, or even if a plane crashed into the apartment building and killed them both right there, they'd be okay.

And Mello smiled.

It wasn't one of those sneers or smirks that he was so accustomed to, or a fleeting grin that was so rare that they didn't exist. But this was a genuine smile that lingered for quite awhile. It was like something you'd actually find at the end of a rainbow, if you cared to follow it, or a product of the imagination. Not only that, but it felt good to be smiling like he meant it…because god knew that he did.

"Of course we are," he reasoned, feeling suddenly as if a load had just been lifted from his twisted mind. There was nothing left to say, and nothing left to hide.

It was safer.

Mello's smile was like icing on the cake. But it was like a really unstable cake that threatened to tip over if you put anything else on it—and lo and behold, Matt's eyes fluttered in something like disbelief.

"You know," he commented, almost with the air of returning to the tense subject, "I never figured you to be the type to kiss anyone," he told Mello with a rogue grin.

"You learn something new every day, don't you?"

"I guess," Matt answered, standing and staying still for a moment, preferring to take this slowly than really rush into things. It wasn't that he didn't feel good enough—just...he was comfortable where he stood and he was lazy, if he had to say. "Why?"

"Why what?" asked a suspicious Mello, who had escaped the heavy cloud of conversation in the living room in favour of the kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator door and drew out a bar of chocolate. He frowned slightly when he saw that it was his last, and realized that he had finished all of his chocolate within a span of at least three days.

"Why did you kiss me? As far as I know... I'unno. I just wasn't expecting it," Matt concluded finally, feeling rather stupid that he would try and explain himself when he knew that he couldn't.

Mello sighed. He might as well tell it all, and tell the truth, while they were in the habit of doing so. Even though he had decided this, however, he wasn't entirely prepared to say what he had deluded himself into thinking hadn't existed. A good majority of it had already been predicted by Matt, but there was still an amount that had yet to phrased.

"For one thing," Mello began, returning to the living room only to stop short, cast the laptop on the floor a scathing glance, and merely stand there gnawing on his half-unwrapped candy. "You kissed me first." This wasn't a good reason all in itself, but he thought he'd bring it up anyway. "And for another, I figured you had it coming. Ever since I shot you, I felt so guilty. But then, and before then, you were just someone I used. A friend who would follow me to whatever end and think nothing of it. I thought you were disposable. It took a lot of shit and a near-death experience for me to realize I was wrong."

It was killing him to say these things, but hell, they would all eventually leak out, and he felt that leaving it up to Matt to piece together in the future was less than a favour.

"Then, I knew you weren't like everyone else that followed me blindly. You had motives, you were my friend. You were the only one who wasn't either miles below me or above me. You're my equal, and it took me a fuck of a long time to accept that." He narrowed his eyes. "And this is fucking hard to say, so you had better be listening."

Matt was stunned something close to speechless. He looked unaffected, impassive, but the fact that he was very much stunned showed in the way that he didn't blink. At least Mello had a better reason for kissing him than Matt had.

Matt, frankly, was awed.

Thusly, he didn't look like he was listening, but he was.

Really.

"...What?" The gamer didn't seem to have anything else to say—but that was mostly because he was just...he didn't really even know. Processing, he supposed.

"...Wait a second. You admitted that you're guilty, you're wrong, and you have an equal all in one go? Are you sick, Mello?" Matt questioned, not having anything really sincere to say because he couldn't say anything sincere at the moment. He was falling back on the failsafe—being an asshat. "I didn't know you had it in you."

Mello laughed hollowly.

"Yeah, don't push it," he said, letting the sound subside slowly before speaking again. "But yeah. There's your reasoning, believe it or not." And it wouldn't be too difficult to believe, because this was one of the only times when the blonde wasn't being deceitful, or hiding the truth in any way. This was just plain Mello, the side of him, ironically, you never saw, even when you paid really close attention.

Hell, Matt hadn't been paying attention half his life and still he had earned the 'privilege' of seeing his true colors. He was a lucky bastard.

Telling Matt to not to push it was a waste of breath. However, Matt only smiled, feeling the need to wander over to the blonde and clap him on the shoulder like he'd really done something wonderful that needed much merit.

"I'm proud of you, Mello," he teased, continuing to act for the fact.

He paused for a moment, scrutinizing the other a little now that they were at such a close proximity. Finally, he slipped his hand around to Mello's other shoulder as to wrap his arm around the other for a brief moment and pull him into something that might have been called a hug if it wasn't so abruptly started and equally abruptly ended. "Just taking advantage of you," he taunted in explanation, pulling away.

"Oh yeah?" Mello said, giving him an equally taunting look as he snatched Matt back, sliding his arms languidly over the other's shoulders to pull him close and press one cheek against his, almost experimentally. The redhead was oddly warm, like hovering over a fire after coming in from the cold. All in all, it was a unique experience. He didn't draw away immediately, either.

"Just taking advantage of you," he said, murmuring these words so softly that they wouldn't have been heard if he wasn't so close to the other's ear. And then, slightly grudging, he pulled away, suddenly extremely tired, as though the mere feat of separating from the other was taxing.

Matt grunted in surprise when he found Mello hugging him back—apparently Mello was only in this eye-for-an-eye thing when it benefited him.

"You're being awfully touchy feely today, taking advantage of me or not," Matt answered with a grin, clearly implying the second meaning that his words could take on the right ears. He faltered for a second though, eyeing Mello carefully now that he realized that they were standing pretty close.

"Y'look bad, Mello." Matt commented, although his tone was almost softly sincere. "Maybe some more sleep would be good."

Upon saying this, he had the oddest notion to invite Mello to sleep with him like they had in their younger years—but didn't say anything about it. For once.

Touchy feely, maybe, but he felt like it was necessary. He didn't know why; it just was. Besides, now that he had told everything to Matt, he felt like he wanted to make some kind of contact. Any kind of contact.

"Yeah," he agreed, knowing that by doing so he was allowing himself a little peace of mind before he plunged into his plan. "I'm going to call Hal tomorrow," he said decisively, his voice somewhat gritty. He brought the chocolate to his mouth again to savour the taste.

Matt smiled wanly—now that he thought about it, Mello kept putting off calling Hal. Maybe it was just a coincidence or something, something with no purpose, but for some reason matt felt like he ought to take shelter in the fact. Prolonging talking to Hal, after all, was prolonging the progression of Mello's plan, and in turn, allowing Matt to procrastinate the fancies of his part. He nodded towards the bedroom.

"Sleep on the bed," he told Mello. "You need it."

He pulled out his pack of cigarettes, nodding as if to usher the other to bed. "I'm going out for a smoke, I'll... be around," he stated discretely, going out towards the balcony overlooking the alleyway. None too pleasing, but...hell. He ought to smoke outside.

"Mhhmmm."

It was like a miracle; Matt was going to smoke outside. He might have stayed, just to relish the smokeless nature of the room, but decided that sleeping was his greater priority. The heavy boots he wore were the only things he discarded on his way to the room, and slipped beneath the sheets once he got there. They smelled awful, like there something putrid had spilled on it long ago and the blankets had been washed with a cheap brand of detergent since then.

Then again, this was an apartment complex. That very well may have been the case.

Thoughts that had been turned over in his mind again and again were flooding back, and it took a lot to force them away. Finally, however, his tiredness overwhelmed everything else, and he found himself soon slipping in and out of consciousness. This was nice.

Matt, on the other hand, seemed to rush through his cigarette—one, it was cold outside and he hadn't bothered with shoes or his vest, and two, he…just didn't feel like being outside. He was just smoking because he needed to and Mello had thrown out his last one.

Therefore, in due time, he wandered back into the apartment to find the entire place kind of restful and quiet, despite the whirring of the laptop computers. He eyed them for a moment before he wandered into the bedroom, inconspicuously climbing onto the other side of the bed and keeping his distance. One, because they hadn't been in the same bed for years, and another because he didn't want to wake the blonde if he was already lost to the realm of the unconscious.

...And Mello was kind of pretty and Matt didn't want to disturb him.

But that was secret.


	10. Chapter 10

**ju.**

Despite Matt's care, Mello woke up at least an hour later. Though he had been drifting in and out of sleep, and therefore hadn't really had much of a rest, he hadn't planned to stay long in bed anyway...even though there wasn't much to do. Not until tomorrow, which was approaching too quickly for his comfort.

He sighed roughly and sat up, blinking and scowling, though undoubtedly refreshed. Even a five minute sleep would have done that for him. To be L, he had always trained his mind to work on minimal sleep, sometimes sneaking out at midnight and wandering the halls in hopes that he would see the great detective as well.

Matt, on the other hand, liked to sleep. He could work on obscenely low dosages of this thing called rest, but for the most part, he liked sleeping. Hell, he liked sleeping a lot. The only thing he really liked to do more than sleep was to play video games. At some point of his life, it might've been 'have sex', but he was over that now. At least, he figured he was, since he'd gone a while without getting laid with Mello around and all.

Acutely aware of bodies in the same bed as him (as he always had been), Matt grunted and rolled over onto his side when Mello woke. This was sort of a bad idea, because he ended up hissing in pain and rolling onto his back again when he realized that it was his left side.

"What're you up for...?" he mumbled sleepily at Mello, opening an eye to peer at him. This was sort of hard because he didn't have his goggles on—and it was dimly lit in his bedroom at all times regardless of the time of day.

The usual reply from Mello would have been "I have work to do", but for now, that wasn't the case. He could always spend time running his plan over and over in his head, but that seemed redundant when he couldn't stop thinking about it. Instead, a muffled exhalation escaped his parted lips, and he turned his head to regard Matt for a fraction of a second. "I got over my exhaustion," he said blandly. "And now I just can't fucking sleep."

"Ohh..." Matt answered with an unexpectedly long drawl to his words. Word. There was only one word. "I…think you should sleep." Evidentally, Matt was an idiot when he was half-awake. Or at least, he was more of an idiot than normal. "Because sleep is good...and if you call Hal, that probably means I'm going to die soon." He half-grinned bemusedly at his own sleepy joke, turning over to his right side in order to face Mello and blinking slowly in an attempt to stay conscious long enough to goad the other into sleeping some more.

"Shut up," growled Mello, shifting uneasily and lifting a lazy hand to brush a strand of hair from his face, leather-clad fingers coming across the rugged surface of his burn scar. "You don't even know." That was all he could come up with.

Matt threw an arm around Mello—pausing for a second. He'd meant to grab Mello's hand and complain about how he was wearing gloves to sleep and how idiotic that was because his hands were going to get wrinkly and pruny, but in his half-asleep daze, he missed. Big surprise. "Mello," he started, deciding that he ought to make his point anyways. "Your hands are going to get wrinkly, prune-like, and ugly. And your hands will look three times as old as you are. What are you, thirty?" He was teasing, of course. When Matt didn't tease was when the world fell apart.

"Does it really matter?" the blonde inquired exasperatedly. Even so, he examined his fingertips, as though staring at them through the stiff leather. It was sort of difficult to do, given that Matt's arm was currently over him, and he didn't really feel like disturbing it.

"No...?" Matt questioned blearily, closing his strangely bright eyes and resuming a sleeping position, making himself comfortable—which was kind of hard to do given that he just realized that the arm he literally threw onto Mello was the arm of his injured side, and now the semi-hole in his chest was throbbing like a bitch.

Thank you, gunshot wound.

"Hmmmm."

That sound was a sort of gesture of surrender, and Mello blinked a few times, glaring toward the redhead with something unreadable in his eyes. "You know, I'm kind of tired again."

"Good. Sleep. So you don't have to call Hal and I don't have to die."

"Shut the hell up," he hissed for the umpteenth time, scooting toward Matt to curl up next to him. Might as well get comfortable himself and punish the other for his pessimism by burying his forehead in the gunshot wound. The punishment elicited a grimace from Matt, his fingers instinctively clutching for something—but failing because Mello's shirt was leather and didn't much yield to desperate fingers.

"You could at least pretend like you're excited about getting closer to Kira."

If the blonde had the patience to be slightly optimistic about the outcome of the plan, the other could at least keep his mouth shut. Even if it was a joke.

"I'm pretending," Matt answered, waving a sole finger around in three complete circles. "You just can't see." He still sounded vaguely pained, but it was more amused than anything else.

"I wish I could," muttered the elder irritably. "Reminding me that you're going to die is not doing me any favours." Because if he did, who then would Mello go to for help? Who then would put up with his bullshit and still stick around after they had exchanged punches and bullets? No one. And if he died, the road to catching Kira would become bumpier. Matt had been the fall-back guy for so long, and with him gone, Mello had nothing but his knowledge and his motivation to beat Near at all costs. That alone wasn't enough to catch a killer, no matter what the blonde tried to trick himself into thinking.

Matt chuckled, feeling quite comfortable with his arm around Mello and Mello fairly close—even if that did mean he might start bleeding on Mello's forehead some time soon. He smiled at the thought. Now that was funny. Who else got the chance to bleed on Mello's forehead?

"Well, there's no guarantee that I'm going to die," Matt pointed out, somewhat more comfortable with the situation if he ignored the severity of it.

"Exactly," yawned the blonde, who was already drifting off.

Mello didn't soften his leaning, but did shift slightly so that he wasn't pressing directly on the wound. Matt had had his chastisement for now.

"Aw Mello, I was going to bleed on you," Matt complained, slightly disappointed at the fact that the other had unintentionally disrupted his plans. However, he wasn't much deterred because he was mostly falling back asleep, having never quite woken up in the first place.

Mello, too, was falling asleep, and eventually did so, rendering himself unable to reply directly to Matt's droll complaint. For awhile, he was out. The first stages of REM flitted over his eyelids, and unheard words danced across his lips, ghosting soundless breaths against the gamer's chest. Scenes of the worst possible scenarios substituted for his dreams:

Matt being chased down by Takada's guards.

Kira killing them.

Hal betraying them.

Near finding Takada before them...

"No, Matt," he said unconsciously. It could have been funny, Mello talking in his sleep.

Matt was just drifting off when he heard Mello speak—he'd grown quite accustomed to this sort of thing, this being asleep but not quite and waking when someone said anything—it was something that proved to be quite useful in Wammy's.

"'No, Matt' what?" the red-head questioned, oblivious to the fact that Mello had fallen asleep.

"Don't die."

Mello shifted again, bringing up a hand to cling vehemently on the other's sleeves. A sort of hum lingered in the back of his throat and he relaxed, letting his hold on the sleeves loosen slightly.

Matt...was undoubtedly awake now.

Maybe it was because Matt had always woken up when something interested him, and when he realized that Mello was talking in his sleep, he was...interested.

Not only was he interested, he was pleasantly surprised to find Mello clinging to his shirt sleeves. Granted, he really ought to not have been surprised because they hadn't slept together in a long while and...well. As much as Mello acted like it, he was not a hardcore rock with an unfeeling but violent core.

He was the person who clung to Matt in his sleep while they were sharing a twin bed back at Wammy's because he was having a nightmare. He was the person who knew well enough that he couldn't hold everything inside of him. He was the person who understood reality the best even when he pretended to believe his own delusions.

And Matt, Matt was not a badass, smoking video gamer who drove fancy cars and didn't care about anything but sex, as much as he made himself out to be sometimes, he was a bastard who cared about his best friend and showed it by way of poking fun at him and pressing buttons and getting himself shot.

All things aside, Matt would like to say they were a good pair.

Of course, as all good pairs had to do sometimes, Matt forfeited any chance of being cool to bring his hand to Mello's hair and fiddle with the strands, his fingertips moving subtly against the scar tissue.

"You know I don't make promises I can't keep."

Suddenly roused by the small movement, Mello frowned, wondering why ever Matt was touching his hair. "Go to sleep," he commanded.

" 'Kay," he answered automatically, although after thinking about that for a second, he thought, 'wait a second. I don't want to.' So he just stayed awake and hoped that Mello wouldn't notice and go back to sleeping and taking in his sleep and being...vulnerable. It made Matt feel kind of good, to admit the truth and be completely selfish about it. He liked watching Mello when he slept because he kind of felt like he was watching over the other and being useful in other ways than doing Mello's bidding and complying to his every whim. It was…nice, to say the least.

And Mello fell asleep himself, meanwhile letting go of Matt and pulling away slowly. He curled, turning over onto his back. A small frown touched his lips, and he flattened his head against the side of the pillow to rest himself better.

Matt conceded that Mello wasn't too interesting when he wasn't talking in his sleep—but that was all right. He just enjoyed the close proximity of Mello's body to his, mulling over the past day's activities and conversations and general chaos. Matt rolled over onto his side, facing the blonde lying next to him and sighing his obvious content.

"Mello, you are such a douche…" he muttered under his breath.

When Mello was finished sleeping his full amount, or as much as he needed to replenish his mind and rest his waking thoughts, he became an incredibly light sleeper. All other times he was only awoken by himself or by nothing. This was rather convenient. Either way, however, he didn't wake in time to hear exactly what Matt had said. Maybe that was for the best.

"What're you saying?" he grumbled, bringing a hand instinctually to one eye socket to massage it thoroughly. He wouldn't deny that he had slept better than he had in a while, despite the fact that he was perpetually dreaming of what would and could go wrong.

"You're a douche," Matt answered.

Apparently, even though some things happened for the best...idiots like Matt made things happen for the better.

The red-haired youth sat up, flinching when he leaned back on his hands and realized that his left side really didn't appreciate such things. This was really starting to get annoying. Matt was beginning to wish that he had super-regenerate powers like in whatever video game it was that he had super-regenerate powers. He didn't really remember anymore with the mass amounts of video gaming he did.

"Were you dreaming last night...this night...a few hours ago?" Matt questioned, searching through his words out loud for one.

Mello raised an eyebrow. He couldn't imagine how Matt would figure he remembered...there was about a sixty-seven percent chance that a person remembered their dreams once they first woke up, and that percentage augmented only as the day progressed and their minds recalled things it had otherwise forgotten. Mello's memory pretty much landed in that remaining thirty-three percent margin. Though he knew he had been dreaming something, he didn't know what. The recollection was there vaguely, playing in his subconscious like a scene behind frosted glass.

"Sure," he stated dryly. "Why?"

Matt shrugged idly, wishing very hard for a cigarette. "You were talking in your sleep," he pointed out, looking over to Mello. "You told me not to die."

"Then don't," said Mello, sitting up only to swing his legs over the side of the bed and heave his rested body up onto his feet. It seemed fair to him; if Matt did whatever the blonde asked, what made this any different? Perhaps it was out of his hands, but you could do anything you put your mind to. That was the refrain always spoken in Wammy's house. Occasionally Mello wondered where exactly it originated from, given that L had died putting his mind to something. So much for that.

Matt faltered for a second, about to protest that indeed, the matter of his own death wasn't exactly something he was too keen on taking on, but the Wammy's dogma came fluttering back into his brain. He shut his mouth, hoisting himself out of bed and hunting out his goggles from the bedside table.

"You're calling Hal today, aren't you?" Matt questioned, thinking about this for a little while. "You know, if Takada meets with Kira, don't you think Kira's given her instructions on what to do if she gets kidnapped? It doesn't take a genius to realize that if you get Takada, you get to Kira pretty fast."

"It also doesn't take a genius to realize that if I'm going to go through with this plan, I've kept those things in mind," he said back, the edge to his voice cancelled by his unconcerned expression. "You think I would go out and try to kidnap the most protected public figure in Japan without having thought about it first? That's kind of insulting, Matt." He looked back at the other, shaking his head minimally before stepping away from the bed and sinking his feet back into his boots. He didn't need them, of course, but he liked wearing them. For this, he didn't have a reason.

Matt, on the other hand, preferred to walk around barefoot as long as he avoided the stains of his own blood on the floor. That, by the way, was starting to get a little bit perturbing. "And you're still going through with it?" he commented off-handedly, adjusting his goggles by the bridge piece. "You amaze me." Of course, this was undoubtedly a bad kind of amazement versus the usual good. "Just saying. In the event that I get shot to death by Takada's guards or something, it's not my fault."

"Of course it's not your fault," he said airily, stopping his sojourn to the kitchen when he remembered that there was nothing of value in there. Later he'd get some more chocolate, or maybe when he was at the airport. He did, after all, have to take a plane to Japan. If he could get on a plane unscathed, that was. It would take a lot of 'espionage' and finagling, but in the end, he imagined they'd get there safely. It was what they were going to do there that would be a little more dangerous.

After a long while of silence where nothing at all seemed to occur, Matt asked, "So we'll kidnap Takada and then what?"

"There's not a good chance that she'll tell us anything about Kira of her own free will, no matter what we do," Mello reasoned blandly, rooting around the living room for Matt's cell phone, which he must have placed somewhere obscure. Instead, he found an empty chocolate wrapper, which he had been at first hopeful for. He later realized, when he picked it up, that it was just trash. With a frown, he continued. "But Kira isn't likely to let someone in direct contact with him go unnoticed. He'll either kill her or try and get her back, though the latter is less likely."

Matt nodded, but with every passing thing that Mello said, he was failing to see the point of kidnapping Takada more and more. "And so...we're kidnapping her because she's really hot and you want to do her," Matt commented blandly and conclusively, as though this was indeed the final statement he had come to. Really, though, it was just his discreet way of asking Mello what the hell his point was. "And if you're looking for my cell phone, it's behind the couch cushion."

Mello scowled at the other, reaching behind the couch cushion to find the phone. "Hmmm," he said, in half-thanks for the assistance, but then went on to explain his true motives. God, couldn't Matt be a little patient? Perhaps the blonde wasn't such a good role model for patience, but the other was supposed to be nothing like him, his opposite in nearly everything.

"We're kidnapping her because if Kira kills her, we have him," he said, smirking slightly. There might not have been any clear reasoning as to how they had him, but then again, Mello hadn't quite explained everything to Matt. At least what he didn't need to know immediately. "And if he doesn't, we can use her."

Matt didn't exactly follow, but he shrugged. Hell, if Mello said so, that was good enough for him. For now. "Okay," he answered finally, tossing the glass that he'd used to have juice with the pills into the sink. Hell, if he managed to get out of this alive, he had a feeling that he was going to need a lot more pain killers. That, and he would make Mello buy them all. "So...call Hal or whatever, and then we'll go out and buy whatever we'll be needing. Another gun, for one." Unless Mello had another that Matt didn't know about, which was quite plausible actually.

However, Mello only had one gun, contrary to Matt's knowledge. Well, he only had one around the apartment.

"I'm doing it now," he said, lifting the phone indicatively and stomping over to a vacant chair, one that was sagging on one side, but somehow it was more comfortable than the couch. Maybe because the couch was a little worse for wear.

He searched for the number in the phonebook, finding it under a fake name. Sally. He decided that if the phone was ever lost or stolen, putting her in under a pseudonym would just be an added precaution. Alright, so he was rather paranoid. Bringing the object to his ear, he listened to the ringing on the other end in wait.

Matt fiddled with his box of cigarettes, managing to light one and at least stand by a window while he smoked. One, because he never liked to be too close to people who were talking on the phone for some reason, and for another, he just...didn't feel like he wanted to get too close to Mello so soon after such a...an unorthodoxly spent night. He could still remember the feeling of Mello's forehead against his chest, Mello's hands tugging on his sleeves—and he didn't want to ruin that with the feeling of Mello pushing him away. Literally or figuratively. So he kept his distance.

Even if Matt had come closer, it wouldn't have made any difference. The conversation was icy, and nothing was exchanged but business. Hell knew that Hal tried to coax something else out of him, and perhaps any other time he would have allowed himself to be a little more light-hearted, or as light-hearted as he could be, but now he wasn't in the mood. He was about to risk his life, after all, and Matt's.

It ended with a sharp click of the phone where he had shut it off, and then sent it flying across the room to land safely on the couch. So much for being nice to technology.

He didn't say anything afterward, choosing instead to merely stand up grumpily and cross the room to pull on his jacket again.

"Are we going?" Mello demanded, referring to the preparations they needed to do before crossing the Pacific Ocean, gesturing toward the door.

Matt had heard bits and pieces of the conversation—not enough to piece too much together, but enough to hear that Mello wasn't messing around and that he wasn't in a good mood...and probably wouldn't be for a while.

"Yeah," he answered, shrugging his vest on with minimal difficulty, already having stepped into his boots. "Are we taking the car?" He questioned, feeling slightly apprehensive about that. They probably would have to, given the nature of their shopping, but Matt didn't ever let anyone drive his car…but under the circumstances, he might have to relinquish the keys to Mello. "And be nice to my cell phone."

"Yeah, we are," he said, glaring at the other as though daring him to oppose. Somehow, though, he didn't think he would. Mello disregarded the crack about the cell phone and brushed past the couch before wrenching open the door and looked over his shoulder for a brief second. He trusted Matt to get the keys and money, or anything they may need for a simple trip outside. Then again, it was always safe to give him one of his 'are you ready, moron?' stares before retreating into the outside corridor.

Matt, indeed, grabbed the keys and the obscene about of cash he kept on hand-- not to mention, the credit card that he had charged on one of his 'benefactor's name. He'd been using it for a while, and as long as he was careful, he could continue doing so. He stuffed his wallet into his pocket, and on second thought, grabbed his cell phone and his handheld too. Safely equipped, he followed Mello out of the apartment, swinging his keys around on his finger. The fact that they were going out for supplies for a potential suicide mission made the air a little more than tense, Matt found.

Mello slowed his pace, intending to let Matt step beside him. He had a thing for walking ahead, because it gave him a feeling of superiority, but he supposed he could make an exception to at least get the keys or have the way pointed out to where the redhead's car was kept. The tenseness didn't bother him at all, because he was already lost in his own thoughts. Plotting still occurred in his head, even after all the plans had already been laid out. These, however, were simply 'what if' questions. Obviously, something would go awry; no scheme went perfectly, no matter how premeditated it was.

The redhead might have quickened his step to accommodate the other, but then again...Matt wasn't exactly known for being the most convenient guy. So he simply continued at his regular pace until he reached Mello's side, giving him the keys and pointing out his sleek red car in the back lot where it wasn't easily seen from the street, nor from any of the windows in the apartment building. Matt, though he took precautions, wasn't as paranoid as Mello was. "Don't handle my car like you handle my laptops and cell phones," Matt stated warningly—and this time he meant it. His car was one of his prized possessions.

"All right," Mello said, snatching the keys. He actually didn't like cars. Motorcycles were okay, but cars, well, they weren't his favourite. Necessary for travel, maybe, but Mello always tried to refrain from using them when he could.

That still didn't stop the blonde from circling around Matt's prized possession and sliding into the driver's seat. Despite his odd hatred for cars, he could see why the gamer loved his so much. He waited for the other to get in as well, dutifully starting the ignition and running his hands along the steering wheel.

Matt lowered himself into the passenger's seat, feeling terribly odd on this side of the car. He slid against the leather interior, slouching in his seat and admiring the detailing around his installed stereo system from the right side for once. "It goes from zero to one-ten in three seconds flat if you want it to," he commented with off-handed admiration. He couldn't help but to brag a little. Not to mention, in the event that they needed to make a quick getaway for whatever reason, it would be good of Mello knew exactly how fast his baby went if you floored it.

"So anyway. Where to first?" Not that it mattered since he wasn't driving…but he was accustomed to asking.

Once Matt was fully inside the car, Mello switched gears and backed out of the parking lot, clearing a few meters before deciding to speak. He didn't address the comment about the speed, only nodding slightly and keeping that in mind. Who knew? It could be useful.

"Retail store," he said. "We need to pick some things up." Not much, just a few odds and ends that they would have to use. Once they reached an intersection, rather than slowing down, Mello sped up, ignoring the warning Matt had given him to be careful with the car. It wasn't as though he planned on wrecking it.

Matt nodded in response to hearing where they were going--the retail store wasn't exactly the first place that he'd guessed, but that was all right. It wasn't like he really cared where they went. Matt grunted in protest when Mello sped through the intersection, though, knowing that on the off chance that there were two people like Mello going in opposing directions, his poor car would not be in such good shape.

"Careful," he hissed warningly to the blonde beside him.

"I will be," he assured. Despite the fact that he disliked cars, Mello maneuvered this one with surprising accuracy, and kept its speed the entire way. Unfortunately, the rules of the road still had to be adhered to, to avoid being stopped by the police. That would have been less than favourable in the blonde's position.

He randomly picked a store, not really caring where he went. They were all the same to be quite honest, even if some of them claimed to be cheaper or have more merchandise. The car turned a sharp corner, venturing into the lot beyond to nimbly park the car a good five spots down from the building.

Matt nearly clocked Mello in the head at his reckless driving--although he did have to admit, for being so reckless, Mello did handle his car quite nicely. So he let the mention of the other's driving go and instead, got out of the car as quickly as possible when they pulled into their parking space.

"Jeeze," he muttered, appreciatively patting his car's hood before he closed the door. "Keep to the motorcycles, Mel'."

Mello climbed out of his side and slammed the door behind him, chancing Matt a teasingly disdainful glance. "Trust me, I will," he said, turning to march toward the sliding doors of the building ahead. His hood had been pulled as far as possible over his eyes for his own protection, though it made him look slightly like a shoplifter. Oh, well. He could deal with the nervous glances he received from the greeters in the front. No matter how nervous they appeared, however, one of them did manage a tiny "welcome" before scooting off to address a woman and three children who appeared lost and irritated.

In contrast to Mello, Matt followed behind with his hands stuck into his pockets, wandering in like he didn't quite know what in the world he was doing in a retail store. To be honest, he wasn't. He did look fairly out of place and rather cheerful in comparison to Mello, though—that was the brilliance of him having long since deleted any records on him. Mail Jeevas was as good as nonexistent. "So what're we buying?" He asked eventually, his meager curiosity getting the better of him.

The blonde looked over at the other, as though wondering whether this question was serious, which, he figured, it was. So, he deemed it important enough to answer, but gave an irritatingly vague answer.

"Things we need," he said plainly. "You'll see." Because honestly, Mello wondered why exactly he had brought Matt with him to begin with. He didn't need his help to buy things, other than the fact that Matt had the money. Then again, he could have always just asked for it. Oh well. Maybe he just liked him being there.

Matt, despite the fact that curiosity had driven him to ask the question in the first place, merely shrugged his right shoulder in response to Mello's answer and let the other go on being vague. He would, after all, know within the next ten minutes what they were buying--neither he nor Mello liked to dabble while running their errands, after all. And, granted, fathoming things to be picked up for a kidnapping wasn't exactly hard.

What Mello had in mind for this kidnapping, however, wasn't as typical as would be expected. He first headed for an aisle centered on bedding, searching it thoroughly before picking out an unmarked and completely unremarkable blanket. Sure, he could have used one of the ones in Matt's apartment, but most of those were stained in god knew what or smelled as if they hadn't been washed for years. Which they probably hadn't been.

Tucking the object under his arm as though it was totally ordinary. It was, in essence, but not for Mello.

Matt seemed to find it horrendously funny that Mello was walking around with a blanket under his arm. He chuckled lightly as he wandered after Mello, sneaking in close enough to whisper 'I knew you wanted to do her,' in the other's ear before he meandered away in hopes of dodging any potentially damaging blows to his ego.

Mello snarled and reached out to shove Matt from behind, but wasn't all as angry as he seemed. "Do me a favour and shut the hell up, Matt," he muttered. He strode in another direction, not really caring if the other followed. Mello, after all, had the keys. Then again, the redhead had the money. Alright. They were equal.

The blonde walked on with an air of knowing what he was doing, which he did. Well, in part. This first trip to the store was halfway improvised; a place to go to pick up whatever seemed suitable, along with a few things he knew were necessary.

"Aw, you know you love it." Matt stumbled forward a couple steps, although he was still grinning somewhat. With all the time he was spending with Mello, it was hard for him to be rightfully pissed at the other as he should have been for being an asshole. Granted, with impending doom riding for them head on, Matt supposed that he ought to enjoy the other's company rather than be angry with him for being a douche. That decided, Matt continued to follow Mello around like a lost puppy.

A roll of the eyes was the reply.

"But wouldn't you be jealous if I did?" he mocked, casting his eyes over the store like a cloud, but only finding a few things he found worthy to pick up: a flashlight, some batteries, a bar of chocolate. Some things were only precautionary, while others (like the chocolate) he thought to be immediately useful. It took him awhile of meandering to decide that he was done shopping.

Matt considered elbowing Mello, but decided that it wasn't worth the effort to show that he was any sort of riled by the comment. "I'm not the one who hasn't gotten laid in a year," he stabbed vocally; although he wasn't really sure when the last time Mello had gotten laid was, seeing as it was 'personal'. He suppressed a smile at the bar of chocolate on their list of kidnapping essentials—it should have figured.

"As far as you know," Mello reminded the other, placing himself in an express lane and dumping a handful of items onto the conveyor belt. He then stepped out of the way and eyed Matt, seeing as he was the only one who could pay. Meanwhile, he cast a wanton glance at the last-minute buy shelf and added another chocolate bar to the pile, knowing that one was never enough, even though two was just pushing it.

Matt pulled out his wallet, deciding that he would use the credit card for the retail store, and then the cash to cover the more wayward of things they had to buy. He looked at the chocolate for a moment, closing his eyes and shaking his head with a smile coming onto his lips, despite his greatest wish that it didn't.

"Get another," Matt told Mello, knowing well enough that three wouldn't be good enough either, but at least it would tide the blonde over.

Mello smiled eagerly, almost like a child, and complied all too willingly by dumping another bar onto the stack of three. Hell, who was he to object? The blonde stepped, annoyed, away from the mob that had formed around the queue, wondering when express lanes had become the opposite of express. Then again, he didn't go shopping all that often, especially not in places like this. He really had no place to judge or question; he was just happy he had gotten more chocolate.

Matt smiled faintly at seeing how easily pleased Mello was over candy—chocolate, of course, but all the same...

He paid their total of twenty-two fifty-six and took the bag when it was handed to him, offering it to Mello for the chocolate he so desired. Matt really must have damn well liked Mello to let him eat in the car and more so let him eat while operating the car.

Mello took the bag, immediately doing what was expected: rummaging around in the bottom of the bag for a bar of chocolate and tossing the rest into the back of the car as he clambered into the front seat, pausing before he turned the key in the ignition to peel open the cocoa-based sweet. As he brought it to his mouth, he felt like it had been ages since he had eaten it, and had downed a little less than half of it before deciding to turn on the car and wait for Matt yet again.

Matt climbed into the car, taking time enough for his view of the chocolate bar to go something like this:

Once there was a chocolate bar...

And then there wasn't.

He gawked for a second before settling in the passenger seat and deciding that Mello was excused because he hadn't had the sugary sweet since...yesterday. Man, that guy was pitiful. Matt smiled inwardly at his private thoughts, settling in the seat again and giving a yawn, despite a pretty restful sleep the previous night. "All right, where to now, He-Who-Inhales-Chocolate?"

"We need to get you a weapon," Mello replied blandly, ignoring the remark. "Something similar to mine, preferably, because it handles well, but you shouldn't have to use it. And you also need...a flare gun." The blonde backed out of the parking lot slowly, then gained speed, though took the car considerably slower than he had before. It was best to appease Matt when he had nothing to lose. The traffic had begun to cram tighter, only making Mello's naturally impatient nature worse. He revved the engine a few times as he waited at a particularly crowded light, lips screwing into a frown seconds before they were occupied with the chocolate again.


	11. Chapter 11

ju ichi

**ju ichi.**

Finally, they reached their destination, and Mello parked as dutifully as he had in the vast parking lot of the retail store, even though this parking lot was considerably less crowded and the building was three times smaller, almost encompassed by the shadow of the building next to it.

"Shady lookin' thing," Matt commented off-handedly as they pulled up and parked. He yawned, absently scratching at his chest as though he could get to the bandages underneath. Now that he was pretty much stoned on pain killers, the shot wound had dulled its pain to a constant throb and itched something like a devil.

Mello grunted in response and stalked toward the building, wrenching open the door and glowering at the inside. The seething feeling that had bubbled up in his abdomen, that had seemingly come out of no where, was lingering.

No verbal exchange was necessary. The blonde stopped short of the counter at the front and flashed some kind of ID, sending the man behind it scurrying. He disappeared in one of the back rooms for quite awhile.

Matt couldn't help but to chuckle a little and reach over and sharply prod Mello's side in something that might have been his brutal version of a tickle.

"A regular rascal, aren't you?" he taunted the other gently, his voice low. The store really commanded it—maybe because Mello and the clerk hadn't said a word to each other, and maybe because it was kind of dimly lit. Or maybe it was just Matt being weird. He straightened and stuck his hands into his pockets, looking idle and pleasant as he blinked up at the ceiling and his surroundings.

"And you're not?" said the elder, playing along against his better nature. "Hasn't anyone ever told you to pick your friends wisely?" He smirked. "You're only as guilty as the people you associate yourself with, Matty."

That little endearing name was the product of an annoyed yet strangely amused Mello. The man came back with a grocery bag, handing it over with a sense of finality, and it was taken by gloved fingers. Okay, so maybe this exchange would appear rather shady to outside eyes, but it was the cliché underground look that made everything interesting. It sort of took the seriousness off of the fact that the thing Mello was carrying could be the thing that either saved Matt's life, or doomed him.

"Matty?" the red-head echoed. He might have paid attention to what other clever things that Mello said if he hadn't thrown in the old ditty at the end of it. Now, Matt just grinned, roguishly hiding it from the clerk like this was his happiness and not anyone else's. Maybe Mello's. But that was all. Matt was always a selfish kid—he never shared his video games, much like Mello never shared his chocolate.

"That's your name, isn't it?" the blonde commented dryly, escaping to the outside to return to the car, each footfall perilously slow. "More or less." Of course it wasn't the other's real name, and it was only his nickname with an extra syllable added. But Mello felt like he was entitled to at least one condescending pet name before they set off for their dangerous venture, in case he didn't get to do it later on. Another pointless thing on his 'things to do before I die' list, behind the hundreds on his list to do with Near.

He slid into the driver's seat, mentally ticking off what they had, and trying to figure what they still needed, which was pretty much only plane tickets. Those, though, they could get without having to leave the apartment.

"Close enough," Matt drawled, shrugging slightly on his right side, eyeing the back of Mello's head with a curious appreciation. Although he would never admit it out loud, he'd always held some degree of admiration for Mello—and it was just nice to wander around the city with him. Even if they happened to be shopping for a kidnapping. This was completely normal context. He slouched down in the passenger's seat again, closing his eyes and viewing the backs of his eyelids like they were a fucking cinema. He had the most dazed of expressions on his face, too—you could either say he was really bored, or the drugs were getting to him. "So we got... stuff to kidnap the hottest star in Japan...and stuff for me to shoot the fuck out of some men with. What next, Mel'?" He, evidently, was keen to seize back a chance to throw Mello's nickname in for the record as well.

Matt seemed all too keen to reiterate their intents, quite flippantly too, and that pissed Mello off slightly. What didn't, though?

"Plane tickets," he murmured, chancing a glance in the other's direction before backing out for the last time and meshing with the typical flow of traffic that would eventually deposit him back where he wanted to be. "But I have some qualms with that. If we paid online, that would require using a credit card, meaning that we'd more than likely have a record of our antics somewhere on the web. Your credit card...is it a fake name, or is it someone else's?" Everything had to be considered before they acted, or else they could make a fatal mistake.

"It's someone else's," he answered, trying to remember which European stock broker it happened to be. "I've got a couple under fake names too, and they can't trace shit back to me 'cause I don't have records." Of course not. Matt, being Matt, wouldn't have records. He would choose to be invisible, a nobody. And this was convenient. As long as he had the options, Mello could procure the answers, right?

"Hmmmm," mused the blonde audibly, highlighting the sound with a swift turn of the wheel. "Then I'll leave it to you to get tickets when we get back. A round trip, for Saturday." He, of course, meant it for the Saturday coming up, which was not far at all. And the mention of a round trip...it only made you think that Mello was hopeful. He wasn't. Talking to Hal only made him realize how doomed they really were. Of course, he would never display this to the other; he kept stolid and firm about the whole thing, and that's how he would remain until he had to actually met death head on. And even then, maybe...

Matt himself could somehow hear the empty promise that a round trip ticket held, but he just nodded.

"Sure," he answered, thinking idly on how he wanted to do this—he could use any of his multiple credit cards...and it was best to do it with two different people's credit cards anyway. Sounded like a plan to him. And of course, his IP address would be blocked just in case. Just in case was how Matt always did things.

"Saturday it is." Well. Way to run headlong into danger. Matt wasn't complaining though. Even if this was the end--it'd been one hell of a ride, even for only nineteen years.

He said no more after this, knowing full well that further speech would be redundant. The instructions were set, the plans were made, and Mello was nervous as hell to go through with it. But...if it succeeded...they would be one up on Near, and perhaps that much closer to Kira. If it failed, well, you could only guess what would happen then. After that, either Near would win or Kira would, and things would be no better off for Mello, or Matt for that matter.

The blonde took one last turn onto the street that housed the apartment complex, and repositioned the car into the place it had been in before. With not even a breath in response to their arrival, he slid out of his seat and strode toward the building with his goods in hand.

Matt followed suit, looking back at his car and feeling somewhat disdainful that it would be left in an airport parking lot until they got back. Hopefully, that damn round trip ticket would be put to good use and his car wouldn't rust away where no one could come rescue it. The generally monomaniacal gamer headed up to the apartment with Mello, his hands stuck into his pockets, fingering the smooth edges of his handheld. After he ordered the tickets, afterwards…

Matt entered the apartment shortly after Mello did, shrugging off his vest after he unzipped it and tossing it somewhere near the couch.

Mello didn't spare so much as a look at the one who had followed him inside, choosing instead to merely partake in the ritual of partial undressing. He slid off his jacket and folded it cleanly over the back of a wayward chair. He glanced wantonly at the plastic bag that played host to his remaining chocolate bars, and after a moment's inward battle, his better side won out, and he pilfered a second bar to rip open. Sure, he would be through with them in no time, but he couldn't help it. So much for self control. Maybe if he learned to contain his desire, he could learn to contain his emotions.

"Hey," Matt commented after a while, having secured one ticket. For the fun of it, he was getting Mello and him seats together. They looked conspicuous as fuck side by side, but hell, you met all kinds of characters on plane rides. Some blonde androgynous guy in leather and a someone in stripes and a fluffy vest wasn't going to be a problem. "You really think we're gonna need round trip tickets?" He questioned, arching a brow. He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it out of Mello's mouth. That, or see if Mello would lie for the benefit of it all.

"Of course," Mello replied sharply, and he wasn't lying. If by some miracle they didn't die, how would they get back? And it was also for reassurance. Mello deluded himself a lot, and this was no different. If he made himself think that they would need round trip tickets, they would. That wasn't always the way the world worked, but since when did he necessarily do things by the way the world indicated they would?

"Do you want to be stuck in Japan?"

Matt shrugged.

"Japan's nice."

Well, Mello was right. In the event that they made it out of this alive, they certainly would need a way to get back to the States. Although, Japan _was_ nice. "Cute girls. Mostly."

Matt was cracking a grin on the inside, but he looked as placid as ever from the outside.

"Hey, you know," he started suddenly after securing their second ticket, "were you planning on lugging Takada back with us? Or are you going to do something crazy in Japan?"

Mello rolled his eyes at the comments about the girls. Leave it to Matt to bring something like that up. But the second was at least a partially legitimate question, and so, the blonde sought to answer it. Not in a straightforward way, of course.

"What do you think?" he inquired lightly. "You managed to put your brilliant deductive mind to the test and figure out my initial plan. Or are you too distracted by the thought of girls to be of any use now?"

"Too distracted by girls," Matt answered with a wry grin breaking through his features. It couldn't be helped, though. Girls were always such a light-hearted thing with Matt—he'd never taken a single one seriously since his mother. "I would say that it's a good idea to go back to the states with her. Normally, not really. But since she's a high-profile star and the entire country will want to kill us..."

Matt shrugged. It would buy them time, too, at the very least. "But I really don't think we'd be too good at getting her through an airport."

Of course this was the expected answer.

"We'd have to take her back with us, even if it's risky," replied Mello evenly, having cleaned through half of his bar. "It would be easier than trying to keep her concealed in Japan, where everyone's looking for not only her, but us too." He pursed his lips. "They'll be looking for us here, too, but not as much. We'll have a better chance once we get her back here, if we take away any means of communication between her and Kira."

Matt nodded, trying to envision a way to get Takada across the borders of Japan. It didn't really look like taking a conventional flight would do them any good—they'd basically be hijacking the plane or something like that. Maybe they could get a private aircraft somehow.

"Did you have one of your guys fly a helicopter a while back? Any chance of us getting something that's not, you know, a commercial jet to get an obvious kidnappee out of Japan?" Matt questioned, his tone almost sarcastic.

"Of course, Matt," said Mello, the intensity of his sarcasm a little greater. "Let me just pull a helicopter out of my ass, along with all of my people that Kira and the Japanese task force killed, and the hideout that is currently a pile of ash. And while I'm at it, maybe I could get Takada here magically. There's an equal chance of both happening." He sighed. "If I could get those luxuries back, do you think I'd be wasting my time with you?" The blonde shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"Nah, if you had those things I'd be getting laid," Matt chimed in helpfully, turning his attention back to his computer screen and, for the hell of it, buying an extra ticket—one way, from Japan to the States. It wasn't like it was his money to be worrying about. He shoved the laptop aside, grunting discreetly in discomfort when he managed to get himself off the ground and onto the couch. Bored now, he pulled out his handheld and turned it on. "Well, I think we can get through airport security with a gun to her head if we really wanted to." Sarcasm? Maybe.

Mello watched the movement from the ground to the couch with disinterest, and then debated silently with himself when the handheld was brought into view. After a moment's thought, he allowed the other to have his leisure, but for how long was another question entirely.

"Sure we can," he said back, scowling, and being less than helpful. He didn't plan on arguing with Matt right now; the other had to trust him to have a plan in mind. He wasn't just going to burst into Japan like an idiot with nothing, though that did seem like his style.

Quiet gaming noises joined them in the apartment while Matt urban ninja'd around the screen, jumping from place to place without much interest. He didn't really think that they would be that successful in getting Takada across the ocean, but he figured that he'd just leave this to Mello. Whatever, let him figure it out or execute whatever he had going on in that brain of his. Matt would just lay low and do whatever was needed of him, and nothing more.

Meanwhile, Mello had packed. Not in the usual, conventional way, with toiletries and clothing and things necessary for travel, but in a way that he tried to conceal the weapons he packed in the suitcases. One per bag, plus a ton of usual items that you would expect to be in a suitcase. Still, it would be difficult to surpass security, but he had a vague feeling that it would be a lot easier than shuttling Takada over the ocean.

He returned to the living room, having done the required, and was met with a strange feeling: he had nothing left to do until that Saturday when they left, except maybe check and double check his things. And knowing him, he would end up doing just that.

Matt was still sitting on the couch playing his video game—although every now and again his game would loop the same music without the interruption of a 'chinng' or a bleep that indicated he was doing anything noteworthy. He was, after the day, dozing off. Either he was a sleepy lazy-ass, or he was a little worse for wear than he let on.

"Mello," he mused suddenly, after a while, his gaze lifting to the blonde with a somewhat dazed awareness there. "I said we were more than friends. You agreed. What does that make us, then?"

This question took Mello off-guard, maybe because he thought that that discussion was done, and that they would never come back to it. Obviously he was mistaken.

"I don't know," he answered, strangely unperturbed by not being the source of answers. He hated being ignorant, but now he figured it was better. "You were the one that brought it up. I thought you knew." Okay, maybe that wasn't why. Then again, Matt didn't need to know everything that was going on in his head.

"No, I don't know," he answered plainly, watching the elder like he could come up with a good answer this way. He couldn't. "What do you think we are, then?"

The blonde didn't want to answer this new question, only because he didn't know the answer. There were a few intensities of knowing a person: acquaintances, enemies, and friends. And then there were the things beyond friendship, a long line of names that the average mind couldn't fathom. Mello wasn't the average mind, and yet he still couldn't delve past that line. Maybe because he didn't want to, in fear of what he would find.

And so, he remained difficult.

"I don't know."

This business with Mello was half fun and half infuriating—it was the kind of thing that Matt subjected himself to for kicks, and always had. This time, though, he didn't have the answer for himself, so it was kind of hard to keep up the hassling conversation. "You don't know anything then, do you?" he commented lightly, reverting back to his old tricks of pressing Mello's buttons in hopes of eliciting an answer to prove him wrong.

But Mello wasn't provoked. He should know Matt's tactics by now, even if they were aimed at is usual weaknesses.

"I guess you don't, either," he replied evenly. The male had eaten down to the very bottom of his chocolate bar, and now had resorted to eating slowly to keep from going through all three of his bars before the next day, at least. Somehow, though, he had a feeling that that would be inevitable, especially if there was nothing left to occupy himself.

"Just eat your chocolate," Matt told the other after a second of noting how he was trying (and failing) to preserve the remainder of his chocolate. "I'll go out tomorrow and buy more. You're not going to have anything to do other than eat chocolate and get fat, so."

Clearly delighted, Mello returned to his ordinary pace of eating his chocolate, and then retrieved the last bar to rip it open and begin to devour it lasciviously. It was funny how he began to do something only when Matt allowed it, even when he decided that he himself was the sole master of himself. When he had time to think about such trivialities, he'd do so. That would probably be in the days preceding Saturday, when Mello was torn apart by a lack of duty.

"I doubt I'll get fat," the blonde added. This was redundant, but he said it anyway.

Really, Matt doubted that Mello would get fat too—that guy had a metabolism to make rats shy. To be crude about it, of course. Matt shrugged a little, discarding his video game to settle neatly on the couch. It wasn't comfortable, but he was dozing off anyways, and couldn't be bothered to haul his lazy ass to the bed. Besides, despite the voracious amount of pain killers he'd taken, the consistent throbbing was starting to get the better of him, and he'd rather sleep it off before the medication wore off entirely.

"I 'unno," he mused , not bothering with his goggles. Currently, they were doing a good job of concealing his half-closed eyes. "You eat enough chocolate."

"And you play enough video games to turn your brain to shit," he pointed out. "And yet you were still third in line to succeed L, and by my observation haven't dropped an IQ point since. So habits can be deceiving." And thus, another seemingly pointless conversation between Matt and Mello. They were full of them, and most escalated into meaningful discussions about things that the blonde would never dream about divulging.

"Yes, well, if I didn't keep it up, they would have kicked me out and that wouldn't be good, would it?" Matt commented, a faint smile tugging on his lips, but he didn't yield to it. Of course, keeping appearances didn't explain why he still was bright nowadays, but it wasn't like intelligence was something that would go away. But touché: Mello did have him on the whole habits thing.

"Geeze, your metabolism must work like a fast mother fucker," he remarked after a second's worth of thinking. "You're thin as a rail." Maybe that was because Mello didn't seem to eat too much else..? Hell, that reminded him, he'd have to get some take out tomorrow or something, he was damned starving.

Mello merely nodded to this first, though he hadn't really digested any of it. It was a thing of selective hearing.

"I don't know whether that's a good or bad thing," he said off-handedly, gaze flicking to the near unconscious figure on the couch back to the waning chocolate in his hand. He had always gotten his exercise in the past, he supposed, but that didn't account for why he still retained his physique even when he didn't do much but sit around and work away on Matt's laptops. Maybe it was those not-so-frequent walks he took around the block. Doubtful.

"Mmn, you should eat more. I worry about you sometimes," the red-head muttered, admitting to that Mello's unhealthy habits did concern him. As far as he knew, Mello was damn malnourished and that wasn't exactly the best condition to run around trying to catch a mass murderer in, was it? Somehow, though, the blonde seemed to manage, and that was beyond Matt... He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, screwing his expression momentarily. "You're going to die early," he concluded finally, as though this accounted for everything.

"That's nice to know," Mello said, his tone rather amused. "Because I live to be told I'm going to die soon." He didn't seem like he cared, with all he had at stake, and how he seemed to throw his life away at every chance he could. He did care, though, in some sort of cosmic way. Dying seemed like a waste, and it was for people other than him. Everyone else seemed mortal except him, even though he was expecting death everyday. His own ideations conflicted with each other, not that he dwelled to long on them.

Matt hummed something of a response, seeming to be uninterested in keeping up the rest of the conversation. His head felt as heavy as fuck, and though he was pretty precariously positioned on the couch, he was falling asleep pretty quickly. Within the next few minutes, Mello was left alone in the realm of the waking, for the gamer lying in the room with him was long gone.

Mello listened to silence for awhile, eventually accepting that Matt had fallen asleep. He polished off the rest of his chocolate sadly and discarded the wrappers, taking everything out of the grocery bag to put stuff last-minute into the suitcase. Once he was done with all of this, the blonde shot another look to Matt, and was immediately envious. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep for days following this point, mostly out of worry, and partially out of the racing thoughts that were bound to occupy his mind until the plane trip went by successfully.


	12. Chapter 12

It had grown to be oddly and comfortably silent in the apartment until a thump resounded and Mello turned swiftly to catch a g

**junii.**

It had grown to be oddly and comfortably silent in the apartment until a thump resounded and Mello turned swiftly to catch a glimpse of Matt sprawled out on the floor. He began to laugh loudly, marching up and glaring at the other in his position exalted over him. It felt good to look down on someone, no matter what the situation, and how much pain the person below him was in.

"You okay?" he inquired facetiously, failing to contain the smirk that was growing on his features.

"Shut up," Matt muttered, annoyed to have had his sleep disrupted in such a fashion, even if it hadn't been a very good sleep. It had the potential to be, for all he knew. Scowling, he gathered himself up from the floor, wincing when he put weight on his left hand. He sat back against the couch and glared at Mello, as though he really expected anything better of the other. Of course not.

"You fall off the couch all the time," he shot back—and it was true. Of course it was true. But the one day Matt did the same, and Mello got to see it, didn't he have the right to poke fun at him at least a little bit?

"And now you know what it's like," he said silkily, holding out a hand to offer his help. Well, that was the least he could do. He had to admit, it was an interesting way to break the silent monotony and wake Matt up, even if it didn't please the other all too much. But that wasn't Mello's problem, was it?

"Yeah, you're a douche."

"Right, right," Mello said in response to the insult, having heard it often enough from the redhead.

All right, fine. Matt would tolerate it. He seemed to take this, of course, grudgingly, and fell to grumbling and complaining as he took Mello's hand. He wasn't exactly sure he wanted to stand up quite yet. He felt pretty woozy from a combination of sleepy dregs, falling off the couch, and being off kilter from the drugs and whatnot. Nevertheless, he pulled himself up with the other's help, swaying slightly on the spot when his head decided that it wanted to lead him back to the floor, but his body and sense of balance adamantly protested.

Mello was displeased by Matt's altogether vertigo and the way he could scarcely keep on balance. That would be less than favorable in the process of kidnapping Takada if strenuous physical activity was necessary. That was probably his fault, but he wouldn't dwell on guilt anymore. He had done enough of that after the deed was done.

"Are you okay?" This next question was serious. He figured he owed the other some sort of sincerity.

Matt felt a twist of some form of discomfort in his stomach. Where Mello hated showing emotional weakness, Matt hated showing it physically. He couldn't help it, though--running amok around the city, even in a car, wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do when people in his state were ordinarily hospitalized.

"Fine," he responded tersely, even though Mello was being seriously sincere with him. He wanted to fend the other off, but as it were, he had his balance while he held onto Mello's hand, albeit a little too tightly. Letting go could mean that he'd make an ass of himself and fall on his face, but he had to do it some time.

Mello frowned. Right; if Matt was fine, he wouldn't be clinging so tightly to his hand. Still, he was patient, and stood there with a look on his face akin to passive impatience. It was a sight to see, since those were two emotions that didn't coincide all that well in the same expression.

"Then let me know when you're going to let go," he said blandly.

As though suddenly reminded, Matt dropped Mello's hand with astonishing speed. He and his one-track mind had, within a couple seconds, forgotten that he was indeed holding onto Mello's hand after all. Luckily, jerking his hand back only induced a couple of backwards steps to maintain this thing called balance.

"Shut up," he muttered, a sour expression touching on his face before he decided to try his luck in making it to the kitchen for some more of those pain killers. He'd have to be sure to snag some more tomorrow, he was going through those things by the handful.

"A little touchy, hmm?" Mello asked, feeling rather superior now that he was the one with the sarcasm, and Matt was the one with the irritation. "Maybe you should sleep some more." The edge to his voice was softened only by amusement as he turned away, keeping one peripheral eye on Matt as he sauntered into the kitchen. There was no telling when the redhead would sporadically lose his balance and land ungracefully on the tile floor.

_This must be how Mello feels all the time_, Matt concluded silently as he set about getting himself a couple of pills and swallowing them with what juice they had. Add juice to his list of groceries tomorrow. "Maybe," he answered after a while, contemplating the chances of getting to the bedroom without tripping over anything. "Maybe you should too." And, maybe it was waking up abruptly upon falling off the couch, or just his head being an asshole on him, but he didn't feel so great. Grumbling, he slowly made the trek from the kitchen towards the couch again, deciding to settle for that since it was closer. Fuck him if he fell off again, though.

"I already got my full night's sleep," Mello retorted, retreating into the kitchen after Matt had left. Without his chocolate, his mouth felt dry and strangely empty. There was nothing else to do then except occupy his neglected jaw with something less taste-appealing. He scanned the inside of the refrigerator, withdrawing some expired hot pockets with resignation. It was something, at least, and it would take him awhile to make. That would not only keep his mouth busy, but his thoughts also.

Matt was inclined to sprawl himself over the couch and, to occupy himself, took out a cigarette and lit it.

"You're crazy." he told Mello, regardless of the fact that sometimes he got by on a couple of hours' worth of sleep, or none at all in the event that he had a high score to beat, or wanted to unlock a new character, or just wanted to beat a game in general. He let his smouldering cigarette hover over his lips for a moment, observing the burning end, before he closed his eyes with a sigh and tucked the cancer in a cylinder between his lips. Mn…that felt damn good.

Mello stared at Matt through the doorway of the kitchen, frowning. This was the absolute last cigarette he was putting up with until he forced the other outside each time, or at least bitched about it for awhile. He had had some pity for him, at least for a moment after he got shot, but now he was past sympathy, and just wanted some clean air. It seemed that no place was safe when Matt was around; there were video games on the floor and smoke in the air.

The least ideal place in the world, and yet Mello stayed. It was fantastic.

"So I've heard," he replied loftily, turning his gaze back to watch the hot pocket heat up in the microwave.

Matt very rarely went out to smoke when Mello told him to—he usually just shrugged it off. It was scarcely any use to tell him to do otherwise, but there would be rare times, like the previous night, where he would actually venture outdoors to smoke. Speaking of, it was best time to start poking at Mello to see if he could get some answers—or at least, some talk to keep him awake.

"Y'know, Mell'," he started in that way that he did when he thought what he was saying was quite amusing in some way or another. "You haven't changed a bit since Wammy's. You still hang onto me like a little girl when you're having a bad dream."

"What?" Mello demanded. If it wasn't for that fact that he was distracted by the question, he would have been more fierce. Being compared to a little girl made things less pleasant. The microwave dinged, drawing his mind away from the budding conversation only long enough to take out his hot pocket and rip it open, snarling as it stung his fingertips. Half-melted cheese and sauce melted onto the napkin he had used to occupy the snack, and he had to left it gingerly to avoid being burned again.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Matt took his time in answering, which he figured Mello wouldn't mind seeing as he was somewhat occupied with his hot pocket anyways. "Last night," he stated to clarify, breathing out a stream of smoke before he replaced the none too helpful filter between his lips. "You were having some kind of bad dream, talking in your sleep and stuff." Breathe out. A ribbon of smoke curled over his red-haired head.

"What does that have to do with anything?" the blonde asked coolly, knowing that though he was referring to his crack about Mello clinging to the other in his sleep, that particular topic had nothing to do with anything. Unless, of course, there was some kind of narrative going on in Matt's head that the blonde just couldn't figure out. That was possible.

Mello began to gnaw half-heartedly on his hot pocket, weighing it longingly against his usual supply of chocolate. It couldn't compare.

"Nothing, actually." Matt answered smoothly in response to Mello, somehow retaining that same cool air around him, half-battered and blinking twice as many times as necessary to stay awake as he was. He glanced over to Mello, smirking wanly. "You look dumb eating hot pockets," he pointed out. "I mean, the chocolate bar wasn't so badass... but a hot pocket in a napkin does not make me want to take you seriously." Not that he did in the first place.

"I'm not eating this hot pocket to please you," Mello stated, grimacing as he neared the center of the snack. It was cold and tasted awful, but it was keeping him busy. He ate through half of the first half of his hot pocket, and then a few bites of the second, then tossed the rest in the trash.

"Don't buy those anymore," he growled. "They're disgusting."

"They taste fine if you're not a chocoholic," Matt answered. Of course, the difference between his mouth and Mello's was that his pallet was accustomed to nicotine with a faint hint of cinnamon—and Mello's was addicted to sugary creamed cocoa. Big difference. "Guess we should've gotten you more than three, huh?" the gamer pondered out loud, exhaling smoke through a tiny part between his lips.

"Probably," muttered the chocoholic, having finished his hot pocket and having no further use for the kitchen. He strode into the living room and sat against the couch, where Matt's feet were. He might as well be in close proximity if he was going to have a conversation with Matt, at least for awhile until the redhead more than likely drifted off again. The carpet was still bloodstained...hmm, maybe he'd bug Matt about that later.

Matt idly nudged Mello in the thigh with the toe of his shoe, having yet to take his boots off since they walked in. He usually didn't unless he was heading to sleep in the actual bed, even if he did like to wander around barefoot. With all the stray technology, it was safer with shoes. He cast an idle glance out to the window, where he could see the sky darkening outside. Almost ruefully, he puffed a cloud of smoke towards it and closed his eyes again. "So, are you going to sleep with me again tonight or are you gonna be an insomniac?" He questioned, the mock-implication of his words bringing an immature half-smile to his lips.

Mello grinned slightly, but let it wane after a moment. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said curtly, shoving the redhead's shoe back indignantly and leaning his head back against the couch. It almost made him drowsy. Almost.

He stretched out his legs, pushing any piece of technology in his way out in the middle of the living room. Matt seriously needed to organize all of his things; they were seriously getting in the way, and sooner or later they were going to get broken by Mello's angry foot.

"Definitely," Matt answered, a devious grin taking place of the smile. Matt was always a montage of one playful expression or another--well, most always. "You know I like you in my bed." That was slightly true—just not in a sexual way. Matt did like having Mello in his bed—for once, he wasn't growling, biting, or making sarcastic comments. He was quiet and peaceful and he let Matt hold him and fathom that he could keep the reckless guy safe.

Or at least, that was what Matt liked to think of.

"Then maybe I could," Mello said, matching that grin, though it was a lot less devious. He probably wouldn't sleep, but maybe he could try. Besides, last night he had a full sleep, even if he did allegedly have a nightmare. Whether that was due to Matt or not he was unable to say, but even if he knew, he wouldn't bring it up.

Not of his own volition.

"And have more bad dreams and cling to me?" he ventured, reminiscing on their younger years. He remembered finding Mello really, really weird for crawling into his bed in the middle of the night and grabbing onto him to squeeze him in a murderous embrace—but he'd grown to like it and even be protective of the older male. Maybe that was where his whole 'do the impossible and protect Mello' mentality came from. Probably.

Mello rolled his eyes over to where Matt was sitting, and then stretched his arms over his head.

"But I thought you liked it, Matty," said Mello, using the younger male's name in a pet form, just for good measure. Besides, it was fun, because it usually incited a reaction from the other, and it was humourous. He stood up, suddenly bored of his long sit on the ground. He began to pace again, suddenly and in small circles. It kept his mind and his feet busy, for a time.

Matt scowled at the use of his pet name—that was one of the few things that got under his skin, but in a very harmless way. He didn't much like it, especially since it sounded like...well, it sounded like a lot of dumb things that weren't cool and badass, which he definitely was. "Pssht," he snorted, trying to think of something witty to say—but Mello did have him there. Mello always pegged him with the truth...Damn that guy. "Yeah, well, not if you're going to wake me up sleep-whining again," he stated finally, not to be witty or clever--just to speak the truth. Although not really. He didn't mind Mello waking him up with sleep-talk.

"Well if you're going to set so many boundaries, maybe I'll just sleep on the couch," he said, flicking blue eyes to the couch, as if to make some sort of point. "It sure would be a hell of a lot easier."

Matt scoffed. "What boundaries? I never said you couldn't. I just said I didn't like it," he lied, although it was as smooth and flawless as anything else he could or would say. "Since when was my word law anyways?" Besides, Mello sleeping on the couch was almost a depressing idea. Now that was something that Matt was not going to voice, especially seeing as the blonde had done that many a time already. Maybe he was just keen to have the other sleep so close to him again.

... where he got off thinking like that, though, he had no idea.

"For someone who doesn't like it, you sure do think up a lot of excuses for me to come sleep with you," he said, and this was a valid point.

"You know what? Let's make a point. I'll take you to the bedroom right now," Matt threatened, his wording undoubtedly careless on purpose. He sat up, his cigarette smouldered down to the butt since he'd smoked away most of it. He dropped it into a nearby ashtray, as though he was really about to drag Mello off to the bedroom to 'make a point'. Then again, he might do just that. He was horrendously tired and finding a good excuse to torture Mello by getting unnecessarily close was a good idea.

Mello cocked an eyebrow, trying to imagine Matt actually dragging him off to the bedroom. It was an unusual picture, and he couldn't see it happening. Maybe if the redhead was just daring enough, and maybe if he wasn't so impaired by a certain gunshot wound. So there were the perks to that.

"Oh?" he questioned, stopping his pacing. He might as well bait the other while he could. It was actually something to still his restive mind.

"Yeah. Oh," Matt answered flippantly, although he wasn't really sure how clever or witty his remark was. It wasn't, actually. but he could try. Mello's reasoning was right, after all. Matt might have been daring enough on a stretch, but he definitely was impaired. He could hardly stand up, much less drag anyone into the bedroom. He'd try, though, and Mello couldn't doubt that. "What, you really think I wouldn't?"

Mello pretended to think about it for a moment.

"No, I don't think you would," he said blandly. "But if you're so eager for me to sleep with you..." The elder gazed at the other through half lidded eyes, eyes that mocked, yet were interested.

"Let's go then," Matt answered, getting up and doing his best not to fall on his face—he swayed and nearly lost his balance, but he threw an arm around Mello to avoid that and thusly proceeded to half-lead and half-push the blonde towards the bedroom.

Mello spluttered slightly at the suddenness at having an ungraceful arm slung over him, but gained his bearings enough to scowl as he was directed into the way of the bedroom. He could have resisted, sure, but what would that accomplish? Nothing but an uncomfortable night's sleep (if you could even call it that) on the couch that still smelled vaguely of dried blood.

"Well, well," he grunted, stumbling at the sudden weight. "Proved me wrong, didn't you?"

Matt chuckled. "I guess I did." He chimed snidely, somehow managing to wrangle them through the doorway and into the bedroom with minimal difficulty. Of course, it greatly helped that Mello was not struggling in the slightest. When they got to the bed, Matt seemed very pleased to be able to kick off his boots and crawl into the bed. Though he winced slightly, he quickly got comfortable and grinned a dare at Mello to join him.

Mello did the unthinkable and pulled off his boots as well, revealing bare feet. His bare feet were a rare sight to see, however--like a rainbow just before the sun disappears.

He strode quite patiently to his side of the bed and slid in with the utmost amount of grace, casting Matt a glance. "Congratulations," he praised disinterestedly. "You got me into bed." He let his head hit the pillow. Pleasant, to say the least, but it wasn't quite reminiscent of the previous night.

"Yes, yes I did."

He dared to scoot a little closer, coming to a mere half foot away from the blonde. "Now I've just got to decide what to do with you."

"It's a difficult question, isn't it?" he said curtly, but not devoid of his brand of humour.

"Then we'll just go to sleep," Matt announced without shame. Apparently, going to sleep consisted of throwing his arm around Mello's waist and unabashedly pulling him as close as possible without sparking something that would merit him a good punch in the face. Smirking slightly, he failed to loosen his grip, thus condemning Mello to that spot until he fell asleep. Undoubtedly that would be soon, but all the same. "Comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I ever could be," Mello mumbled. He was, of course, referring to 'as comfortable as he could be while trapped under the other's arm', but he decided to leave that out for the sake of breath. Or something like that. A hazy mind worked itself in weird circles, after all. He stretched, gauging his own exhaustion. For someone who had been running around all day, he was actually not tired at all, however he knew that would change sooner or later. Something about sleeping in the bed was just too damn lulling. Maybe it was the comparison between it and the couch; maybe it was just who he was in bed with.

Matt was contented to close his eyes and rest close enough to Mello that he could hear the other's heart beating in his chest. It was a little awkward to be this close-- awkward because he wasn't used to listening to anyone's heartbeat but his own when it was pumping in his ears while he was playing a highly vigorous video game. "Go to sleep," he commanded, as though his word would have much precedence. He just knew that Mello would stay awake otherwise.. maybe if he held on tightly enough...

"Yeah, yeah," mumbled Mello, shaking his head almost numbly as he closed his eyes, trying out the sensation of sleep the best he could. Even that didn't coax drowsiness into his system, so he merely pretended, even going so far as to slow his breath to further the illusion. Even he himself was deluded into thinking that he was drifting off, though he was famed for his self-delusion, and that really didn't mean anything.

Matt, however, wasn't awake long enough to see Mello's brilliant little facade. He fell asleep fast enough with his forehead close to Mello's chest and the other's heartbeat drumming softly in his ears. It was a little corny, but someone as dog-tired and as content as Matt was really didn't give a damn about that kind of thing. He did, on the other hand, care enough that he hung onto Mello to make sure that he didn't go anywhere—or at least that he'd wake up if the blonde tried.

And, despite how stupid the attempt was, he did try to go somewhere. Anxious, fidgety Mello try to pull away to pace, or pretend like he was working to assuage his restless mind. But the other clung too tightly, and eventually he gave up. Matt seemed stronger in sleep than in wakefulness, which was odd.

"Damn, Matt," muttered the blonde, comparing the redhead to a cat in his sleep.

Matt shifted slightly himself and muttered something that sounded strangely akin to 'don't go' when Mello moved, tightening his hold just for a moment before slacking again. Relaxed, he breathed something of a relieved exhale and quieted down again.

Mello snickered lightly, somehow worried that he would wake the other, though he knew that Matt had a selective way of doing things and would only wake up to what he deemed worthy. So he decided to content himself with thoughts of chocolate tomorrow and the possibility of catching Kira, and experimented with different expressions that Near would have when he was beaten, though it was doubtful he would have an expression at all, being as apathetic as he was.

One could always dream, right?

But these daydreams gave way to slumber, and he suddenly fell asleep himself, despite his mental decision that he would never get to sleep, and turned to ordinary dreams, which kept morphing into different images: Matt dying again, Near winning, Near losing, Kira winning, Matt as Kira...

It seemed like Matt knew that Mello was asleep—or at least, he gave the illusion that he knew because he appeared to rest easier and keep his hold on the blonde a little less tightly. As the night progressed, the younger one's grip continued to slacken until he was barely holding on at all—just keeping his arm draped over Mello and aligned with his back, his nose pressed up against the heat of the other's heart. It was one weird way to sleep, but somehow, Matt was managing comfortably. Quite comfortably.

Two people as supposedly badass as Mello and Matt sleeping together in the positions they were in was something new, and undoubtedly amusing to an outsider's eye. If Mello had been watching himself at that moment, he probably would have been ashamed, not only for his appearance but for his pride, or whatever he had left of his pride. In the past years the blonde had to sink fairly low in order to get where he was.

That usual hum rose in the back of his throat, and then died a little, indicating the ins and outs of the blonde's REM periods. It seemed as though he highlighted his sleeping stages quite clearly.

The hours slowly progressed into the still of the night, breathing a sense of peace and serenity. Despite this, however, Matt suddenly found himself awake, blinking harshly at the leather of Mello's shirt just an inch shy from his eyes. Maybe less.

Struggling to sit up, he somehow managed a compromising situation where he had his right elbow propping him half up against the bed, sleep and pain, not dulled by pain killer, preventing him from going much farther.

"Mello," he hissed, shaking the other awake with a strange sense of urgency, even though everything was, more or less, peachy keen.

The elder growled, tossed slightly, and then cracked one irritated eye at Matt. He was getting a good night's sleep, so this had better have been pretty damn important. Despite his annoyance, however, he managed to stay awake, lifting himself off the bed to sit up, the sudden change in posture resulting in a heavy dizziness.

"Whadda you want?" he demanded sleepily, his voice slightly slurred from fatigue.

Matt sort of felt bad for waking Mello up, but the thought had just struck him and—well. It was kind of stupid, but it was far from petty. Or at least, not to Matt. Maybe it was the fact that it had deep roots, and maybe it was the fact that Matt was plain weird. Either way, satisfied that Mello was awake, Matt lie back down and spoke.

"I don't want you to die," he stated, his tone of voice taking on a new airy carelessness, like he was continuing a conversation and not starting one in the middle of the night.

Mello was speechless.

Not in the good kind of way, when you hear something so wonderful that you have nothing to reply back with, but in the unhappy sort of way where you're woken up at an inopportune time for something stupid and completely random. He sighed, puffing an exasperated breath through his nostrils before lying down as well and feeling quite satisfied once his head hit the pillow. But still...he had to answer.

"I won't," he assured sleepily.

"Really, Mello," he muttered, wrinkling his nose slightly in distaste for his own words. "If I die, that's one thing. But if you die..." He trailed off and shrugged against the mattress, closing his eyes before rolling over and daring to take a stab at fiddling with Mello's hair. One, to annoy him and keep him awake, and two, to mess with something tangible.

Mello half-consciously shoved Matt's hand away, but doing so without any real motivation, so as to succeed in only lightly tapping at the warm fingers.

"Stop it," he murmured, talking about both Matt's persistence to talk about his own death, and his touching of his hair. How many times had he brought up this subject? Too many times for real comfort, because it got Mello thinking about it as well.

"I'm not going to die; you're not going to die. We're going to be fine, because we make a damn good team." After this semi-heartfelt rhetoric, he paused for thought. "Now go back to sleep."

"Well, then theoretically…" Matt insisted, paying no heed to Mello's attempt to brush him away, seeing as how it was half-hearted as all get out. Maybe he should let the other go to sleep, with how malnourished he was and all that. He settled down, watching Mello for a little bit before deciding that whatever, he'd let the subject drop. It wasn't a big deal and he didn't really know what he was saying so...why not?

"Fuck you and your...just fuck you." He muttered, although he obviously didn't mean it.

Mello, who had already closed his eyes again, opened them again to peer over at Matt.

"What did I do?" he inquired harshly, all on one breath. Now that he had been roused, he wasn't sleepy in the slightest. Thanks, Matt. Still, he had to know what he had done to deserve the almighty 'fuck you', besides deny the fact that they would die and require at least a few more hours of sleep, if not less.

"You're just an asshole," Matt answered nonchalantly, exhaling in an almost exasperated fashion. Now that Mello wasn't sleepy, Matt didn't appear to be interested in staying awake anymore. He did, however, finally open his eyes and look over at the older male. "You know I don't get worried too often, right? So when I do, something's gotta be up. I just woke up in the middle of the night for no fucking reason—I would say that's pretty damn worried, even if it is over nothing."

"Okay, I'm an asshole," admitted Mello coolly. "But I fail to see how this conversation has anything to do with anything...so maybe if you'll enlighten me, I'll care a little more. I'm sorry if I was sleeping." An obvious note of sarcasm rang through these words, but it was carelessly said. He did care at least infinitesimally about what Matt was saying, or else he wouldn't have even bothered to listen. How that warranted an insult was beyond him.

Matt shrugged, seeming to not really be paying attention to Mello—although he was, and wholly too.

"I don't know. It really just seems like you're bull shitting me this time." The red-head answered, staring up at the ceiling before glancing to Mello. It was weird to think that by the end of the week, one or both of them could—and probably would be--dead. Great. Matt cracked some semblance of a smile for no particular reason except to lighten the mood. It didn't do much. He just didn't like talking about such melodramatic things—even if they were the truth.

"Hey, if I could control life and death, I would," he grumbled, the smile doing not only little, but nothing at all. "But all I can do is tell you that we're going to be okay and hope you believe it. Don't expect too much from me; I'm not a fucking god." Mello squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that, by some miracle, that would whisk him off to sleep. Nothing of the kind happened, leaving him with a mild sense of disappointment before he opened his eyes again and stirred slightly, readying himself to sit up and slide his feet over the side of the bed. He didn't do that quite yet.

Matt snorted a little, wanting to a.) punch Mello, or b.) snatch him up and make sure he never died. Although, eventually, he would die of starvation if Matt decided to snatch him and keep him hostage in the confines of the bedroom.

"I'm not expecting anything from you," he continued, warily eyeing Mello in case he did decide to move. "I'm just saying. Don't bullshit me about this kind of thing. Going in like everything's gonna be okay is what's gonna make everything not okay." Eloquent, Matt.

Mello did move, shoving his still-drowsy body over the side of the bed and standing to stretch busily as he replied.

"Fine," he said, rather confused by what Matt wanted. He didn't want Mello to die, yet he didn't want the assurance that he wasn't. "Next time I'll just ignore you. Is that what you want?" He tossed his head back and glared at the ceiling as he stretched his neck, disliking the after effects of a disturbed sleep very much.

Matt would like to think that the remaining answer would be pretty damn obvious. If he didn't want Mello to die and he didn't want the assurance—he just wanted Mello to not die. Was that too hard to fathom? Matt sat up, grabbed Mello by the back of the shirt, and pulled his ass back down to the bed again.

"You ignore me and I'll kill you," he threatened, although he didn't mean it. "Don't go, Mello. You do this all the fucking time. You shit me, you leave, and then I sit and think about what an asshole you are. And then you wonder why I get pissed all the time."

Mello looked over at his shoulder at Matt, scowling, then decided that this was an inefficient method of scrutinizing the other and turned around to stretch his legs out against the sheets and glower down at the redhead who seemed to be experiencing too many mood swings for a normal person to handle at one time.

"Then what do you want me to do?" he demanded, disliking the prospect of being carted around by the other very much. It was supposed to be the other way around. "Stay here forever?"

"Not die," he stated factually as though the other could really help it. Staying there forever didn't sound like a bad idea either. Since last night—their first time actually managing to sleep in the same bed without one of them kicking the other out—Matt had deemed his bed something akin to a safe haven. Well, not quite. More like 'base' in tag. A place to at least take a breather.

That being, he decided to lay off the severity of the topic just a tad. "Yeah. Staying here forever sounds good." He really did experience too many mood swings for one person. He was like a pregnant woman where Mello was a chick undergoing PMS.

"Hmmph," said Mello, now altogether too lazy to lift himself off the bed for a second time. He wouldn't stay there forever, but he'd stay for a good long time until he deemed it necessary to get off. Again he found himself wondering if lethargy was contagious, and if he had caught it from Matt.

"No, staying here forever sounds like a waste of time." He yawned. "Then again, I haven't gotten such good sleep twice in a row."

Matt seemed to be somewhat satisfied that his lethargic attitude was catching on—he would very well like it if they just stayed around his apartment for the rest of their days playing video games...although he doubted that they would do anything like that. The chain of events didn't look like it would open its doors to such free-hearted activities any time soon. "See? Go back to sleep," he told Mello, like he wasn't the one who had woken the other in the first place.

Mello cast him a skeptical look, just to make sure the other one wasn't joking, and formed another yawn.

"Hell if I can do that now," he mumbled, hand going up to tug nervously at the leather that protected his chest. Now that he didn't have tiredness distracting him, that same feeling of disquiet was settling over him again. The signs on his face weren't visible, but if he wasn't careful, he could very well get premature grey hairs.

The very thought made him open and close his eyes in disturbed succession.

While the other was distracted, Matt seemed comfortable enough to roll over and try his trick again—hugging Mello close enough to him that he was certain that the other wouldn't get away, and that he could listen to life itself in his friend's chest. The thought was strangely comforting.

"Now you can," he stated with the matter-of-fact attitude of a child, seeming quite pleased with himself despite his somewhat melancholy demeanor, as though this was seriously going to keep Mello from going anywhere. Hell, who knew? It might.

"Mmmm," hummed Mello, with a mix of satisfaction and slight discomfort. It was an odd combination of sentiments, and he wondered how he could be so inwardly conflicted at the oddest of times. "You think that can just fix everything, don't you?"

It would be odd to admit that it did, in many cases. Matt was warm, and since he didn't wear leather as the blonde did, he was rather soft; it was almost excusable that he smelled like smoke. Almost.

"Yeah, I do." Matt answered, the tone of his voice carrying something like a 'you got a problem with it' factor. Despite Mello being all leather-clad and apathetic and generally unrequiting, the red-haired male found it very necessary and very comfortable to assault Mello at any given moment in time. Granted, he'd always been like this. Back when they were younger and not so stressed out, Matt would always throw an arm around Mello and walk around the grounds like there wasn't a care in the world to be worried about. Holding Mello like this now almost mimicked that on-top-of-the-world feeling. Almost.

And boy did Mello really wish that were true; if an embrace or a simple matter of physical could really change the world somehow, or at least the things in life that desperately needed changing, Mello would have adopted the practice long ago. Alas, this wasn't the way things worked, so he had to simply get used to it.

"Hmmm, but it doesn't," he replied simply. "So you're just going to have to learn to let go."

The blonde mused momentarily. "And you can start by letting go of me."

Matt pulled a slight face at Mello's denying him, keeping his eyes closed despite his displeased expression. It appeared as though he was going to try very hard to go to sleep, even with Mello wanting him to let go. Hell, if the blonde kept this up, Matt had no qualms with getting up and sitting on him if he had to. Try sleeping then, Mel'.

"No thanks," he stated squarely, like Mello had just offered instead of instructed.

Something about being directly disagreed with didn't sit well with Mello, no matter the reasoning behind it. He squirmed slightly, giving something that could have been mistaken for a pout.

"C'mon, Matt," he said. "You're going to have to let go eventually."

The elder's nasty feeling of restlessness crawled upon him, reminding him that important things were about to happen, and that lying in bed would not prepare him for it. No matter how much this nagging voice irked him, he couldn't rid himself of it.

Matt gave Mello a particularly harsh squeeze at the other's fidgeting, and although that did kind of hurt him, he didn't give a damn.

"No I don't," he denied adamantly, seeming none too interested in being mature any time soon. He, once more, was sleepy—and he wanted Mello to sleep with him. Or at least, stay beside him. Mello's restlessness could just fuck off--they had a half week to do whatever they needed, and granted that now was the middle of the night, to hell if they wasted their sleeping time in preparation.

"Fine, asshole," growled Mello, now officially trapped. If he tried to leave, there was a definite chance that Matt would find some way to keep him in the bed, at least until morning, which seemed forever away.

"You know, we wouldn't be having this problem if you hadn't have woken me up."

_Oh yeah._

Matt had almost forgotten about that.

"...Sorry," he stated, although he didn't sound at all like he meant it. Guilt was a hard thing to come by when it came to Matt and something as trivial as waking Mello up in the middle of the night. He was too lazy to be guilty. "We also wouldn't be having this problem if you could stop being such a workaholic and go to sleep. I feel like some neglected housewife," he joked, although it was a pretty good analogy.

Really, Mello had nothing to say to that, not that he considered it relatively true. Anything that conflicted with his opinions were written off as unimportant in his mind. But he took a stab at a reply anyway

"Maybe if you could fall asleep alone," he pointed out. "You haven't changed a bit since Wammy's."

But despite his certain qualms with being pinned down, he had stopped squirming.

"Neither have you," Matt answered, even though he was trying to fall asleep. Mostly, he sounded wide-awake now. As soon as their banter ended, though, he probably would fall asleep again without problems. The gamer had never been one to have trouble falling asleep—it was always Mello.

"You still cling to me when you're having bad dreams," he stabbed. "'Least you don't have to crawl into my bed anymore, huh? You're already here." Seeing that the other had at least stopped trying to get away, Matt loosened his grip slightly—but didn't exactly release Mello. No, he was too comfortable and comforted for that.

"Lucky for you, eh?" Mello sensed that the conversation was sliding, mostly because Matt was already beginning to fall asleep. He knew that once the redhead had gone to sleep, he would follow not long after, just because that was the routine. He had no idea how the other fell asleep so fast, but he was willing to bet that his constant lethargy played a role in it.

"Mmhm, because having you in my bed is the best thing ever," Matt drawled, scooting closer to Mello. With a newfound audacity, he buried his head in the crook of the other's neck--if only to make him uncomfortable. Matt could push buttons in more ways than one. Lo and behold, button-pushing (both the video game way and the figurative way) and being lazy were things he'd always been adept at.

"Hmmm? Better than getting laid?" Mello gibed.

At this new contact, however, a weird, uncomfortable feeling rose up in his stomach, in a way that made him recoil as if in pain. Being touched at all was a foreign thing for poor Mello, and though he could handle it if he was the one making first contact, he wasn't so keen on being 'violated' the way Matt was so clearly reveling in.

Matt seemed to be completely aware of the fact that he was doing a very thorough job of bothering Mello—and he didn't look like he was about to lay off any time soon. The upside, though, was that he didn't appear to be going any further either.

"Maybe," he stated finally, decisively. Hell, he kind of sounded like he was insinuating something, too, but he was evidently too tired to roll over, much less get down and dirty with anyone at the present time.

That seemed good enough for Mello, because afterward he fell silent. Continuing to talk would only encourage Matt, whereas shutting up would allow the other to sleep, and in turn, allow Mello to sleep as well. He attempted a yawn in order to assuage his seemingly nonexistent weariness, but nothing came, only a huffy breath that rode down his throat.

Persistent Matt, however, kept his place, making the blonde more than slightly irritated.

Matt, unknowingly, fell victim to Mello's plans. After a couple failed attempts to resume conversation (mostly, they failed because whatever he was saying was completely incomprehensible), Matt succumbed to unconsciousness and fell asleep with his forehead still firmly planted against Mello's shoulder, his arm still draped over Mello's side. Despite Mello's irritation with his placement, Matt looked quite content and highly pleased with himself, even in his sleep.

As he predicted, Mello drifted off. His dreams didn't bother him again, leaving his sleep to be, all in all, quite peaceful. He had grown quite unaware that the thing lying against him was Matt. After all, this wasn't an ordinary way to sleep; not since Wammy's, at least.

So, unconscious and damn comfortable, the blonde snatched the warm figure against him and pulled it into a crushing embrace, clinging as though it may disappear at any moment.

Something kind of set off in the back of Matt's head that there was something touching him—and touching him in a way that made him feel like he was in a cocoon, but...it was a nice cocoon, a safe cocoon of mutual warmth and neediness which he hadn't felt for a damn long time. His subconscious registered this, but for the most part—well. Matt was snoring faintly. That just about went to show.

Gently returning the gesture, Matt shifted and secured his left arm around Mello a little better before sleeping on.


	13. Chapter 13

The first thing that struck Mello in his wakefulness was a certain irritation, for two reasons

**jusan.**

The first thing that struck Mello in his wakefulness was a certain irritation, for two reasons.

For one thing, the sunlight was blaring against his eyelids, making it difficult to keep unconscious, which he was trying desperately to accomplish considering he had been woken up constantly by Matt. And speaking of Matt...

The blonde cracked an eye over at the heat that was plastered against him, finding it odd that he himself was clinging to the other as well. He attempted to detangle himself, muttering all the while.

Matt woke when he felt the leather pulling way from his cheek. He winced--in the night, he had been practically melted to the blonde's chest, considering that they were both quite warm and Mello was, indeed, wearing leather.

"Mnnf..." Matt grunted in a frumpish sort of manner, trying to keep the elder form going anywhere. Mainly, this was because he was fully aware that it was day time and Mello getting out of bed meant that he would have to, too. "Quit moving."

"Maybe if you'll get off me," Mello grumbled back, detaching himself from the younger male and failing to bring up the fact that he was the one who had initiated the embrace (whether he was conscious of it or not). He edged off the side of the bed and lazily breathed through his mouth, suddenly wondering why he didn't have any chocolate.

Oh, that was right: he had eaten it all.

The male let out a small _humf_ of disappointment.

Scowling as he was forced to let go via Mello sliding off the bed, Matt sat up and brushed his red bangs out of his face, only to have them fall aback into his eyes. Where were his goggles again? Somewhere on the bedside table...

Grunting slightly in complaint to having to get up and move around, Matt forced his reluctant body into a sitting position and groped for his goggles.

"What's the agenda for today?" he questioned the blonde blandly. He clearly didn't want to do anything at all.

"I need some chocolate," Mello remarked blandly. That took precedence, after all.

Matt chuckled. Of course, Mello needed his sustenance, after all.

"Lots of it" Matt added. "And I need pain killers."

Lots of that, too. Especially if he was going to last all the way to Japan and sit still-- he was a fairly restless person when it came to plane flights. He just didn't like sitting there and doing the exact same thing as a good hundred other people. It was just so... banal. "I'll go out for you. You coming with me?"

Mello had plenty of reasons to stay in the apartment, many involving security and how redundant it would be to go with him when shopping was clearly a one person job, and one preferably done by Matt. But he didn't deny him for some reason.

"Fine," he said. "I don't trust you handling my chocolate, anyway." Of course that was why he wanted to go with; it didn't have anything to do with not wanting to stay alone in the room with nothing to do and no one to yell at.

Matt only smirked in response—he had gone out and done the grocery shopping by himself on more than one occasion, and always, always, his excursions had included buying and handling Mello's chocolate.

"Right," he said anyway, deciding to indulge Mello and his lucid excuses. With the air of someone who was getting completely freshened up and dressed, Matt fastened his goggles about his eyes, adjusting them by the bridge of his nose strap and sliding out of the bed to find his boots. "Let's go then, you possessive...whore."

At this, Mello raised an eyebrow, an amused expression spreading across his face.

"Whore?" he questioned, pulling on his own boots with a sense of satisfaction; that was, after all, his entire routine of readying himself for the day. "Did you come up with that all on your own?" Being insulted didn't irk the elder as much as one would think, whereas being told the bitter and unyielding truth pissed him off. Crazy, but it suited his lifestyle.

"Oh shut it," Matt growled at Mello, fastening his boots and heading out the bedroom door. He was going to get what was left of his painkillers and down them faster than he put on his clothes that time he woke up next to this really ugly chick. "Let's go."

Mello consented with a grunt and a sort of swagger toward the door, not even bothering to pick anything up as he went. This was Matt's trip, after all, not his; he could take whatever transportation he wanted and buy whatever the hell he pleased, as long as some chocolate was bought at some point in their excursion.

The male yawned, stifling it slowly as his hand toyed lazily with the rusted nails that held the doorknob securely onto the door before actually turning the knob and stepping out into the garish sunlight.

In record time, Matt was by Mello's side and heading out the door before he even realized that he'd left the keys. Whatever. It was a nice day, and he didn't feel like driving anyways. Besides, although he was adept at whipping the wheel around with one hand, he didn't really want to subject his left arm to such uselessness. Instead, he stuffed both of his hands into his pockets, his vest having been shucked somewhere yesterday and unable to be quickly retrieved that morning. However, he didn't mind. The crisp autumn air could do a body good, and Matt quite liked the coolness of the weather.

"We're walking to the convenience store," he stated. "Hope you didn't need anything other than chocolate."

"What is there to need other than chocolate?" pointed out Mello.

Whereas Matt liked the atmosphere, he found it repugnant for the sole reason that he had been rather enjoying his time holed up in the apartment, and emerging only to the glaring sunlight was something that he could have gone weeks without. Still, he supposed he could endure it for awhile, at least until he got his chocolate and got back. When there was a lack of it, it seemed to consume his existence.

Matt didn't need the sunlight, nor did he hate it, but he did like it. So he was somewhere in the pleasant middle. Satisfied with the weather, he continued on with his hands safely tucked in his jeans pocket. The store wasn't too far away--the walk was bearable, but sort of tiresome if you went too often.

"Right, of course." Chocolate, pain killers, and maybe a six-pack of coke.

And after that, Mello sought to discontinue the conversation, staring determinedly in the opposite direction of the light, which still managed to irritate him by warming his already sweating skin. Wearing perpetual leather tended to do that to you, especially when you had to wear a jacket in the scorching weather to keep a low profile.

Matt chuckled a little after a moment's worth of silence—he really couldn't handle this 'not talking' thing unless he was pissed at Mello. However, he'd hadn't had ample chance to really get pissed at the other and wallow in it, seeing as Mello, for the most part, had been in his company for the past two days.

"You know, you almost look more suspicious walking around in a winter jacket in the middle of this weather than you would just walking around normally." Matt pointed out. "And in leather. Maybe I should introduce you to jeans?"

"Nnnnn," Mello replied, disgruntled, shooting Matt a look. Nevertheless, he peeled off his jacket, feeling the next to immediate relief. Looking suspicious wasn't nearly as important as keeping his face concealed, but he supposed the other was right, though he wasn't going to voice this opinion any time soon.

"Better?"

Matt gave the other a slightly quirky grin.

"Yeah." He didn't think that chances would have them encounter anyone of vital importance on the way to the convenience store either. Near already knew what Mello looked like, and Kira and all his forces were over traipsing in Japan and fighting with the SPK anyways. Upon reaching the store, Matt pushed the door open and turned to Mello to give a devilish smile. "Ladies first."

Mello allowed a very pronounced scowl to pass over his lips as he stomped inside, not before giving Matt a tiny shove. Of course, immature violence was the answer to everything.

They seemed to have not grown up much; perhaps this was because, despite all of their experiences and all that they'd seen, they still clung to Wammy's, not their elder selves.

Or maybe it was exactly because of all their experiences and what they'd seen that they still clung to Wammy's like Near to his toys, L to his sweets, Matt to his games, and Mello to his chocolates. It was a perpetual childhood that they didn't want to let go of, or else they'd be forced to face the fact that the world they lived in and the way they lived wasn't exactly the kindest thing. Therefore, Matt only smiled at the shove and continued along to pick up his things, leaving Mello to gather however much chocolate he could carry.

Which he did.

Mello, feeling none too merciful toward Matt's pocketbook today, took the entire display, which was a box of three dozen chocolate bars. He figured this would tide him over until they got to Japan. It was sort of a bizarre thought that the blonde could devour that much chocolate in such a short time span. Not that he'd give it up. To hell with diabetes.

Matt hunted out the strongest painkillers he could find—his body was really battering him for getting so little sleep and wandering around the city like an idiot with Mello. He came back with a six pack of coca cola and two bottles of opiate-based pain killers.

"Geeze, Mello, you buy out their whole stock?" he questioned, jesting—but he faltered a second when he noticed that the display was empty. "...Yeah just put them on the counter," he stated, still a bit in awe as he deposited his own wares and pulled out his wallet.

Mello did so matter-of-factly, because he did buy out their stock, in a matter of speaking, though it was likely that they had chocolate out the ass in the back of the store.

"Alright," he said loftily, moving out of the way almost immediately, because hell if he was paying, and standing in line was indicative that you had money. Mello never was the one with money; he just made everyone around him pay for things.

The total rang up to around sixty dollars, although Matt didn't flinch in the slightest. He didn't even seem to have qualms as he pulled out the amount in cash with precise change and handed it over, taking the bag containing the pain killers and the coke for himself, and then passing the monstrously heavy chocolate bars to Mello.

"Geeze. How long is that gonna last you, Mel'?" he muttered to the other as they headed out the door again.

The leather clad male picked out one of the many ravenously, peeling off its paper shell to hungrily begin to consume it.

Gauging this, he responded: "I have no idea."

Matt chuckled at Mello's near-instantaneous reaction. Feeding the other's addiction for almost forty dollars from a convenience store was well worth it for how ridiculously content it made Mello. For the most part.

"Just try to save some for the plane," Matt pointed out. Unless, of course, they cared to clean out the gift stores in the airport too.

"Yeah, I'll see what I can do," said Mello sarcastically, though he continued to gnaw at his sweet and dangle the bag lovingly from the crook of his elbow.

Matt really couldn't tell him he was less obsessed with his precious video games, or his cigarettes.

Speaking of, it was a real wonder why Matt wasn't a.) smoking, b.) playing his handheld, or c.) doing both. It was instinctive to nab his handheld on the way out, and it was nestled safely in his pocket—but he had yet to do anything with it all day. It was hard to think that maybe his gaming had lost its luster.

"You wanna play Mario Party with me?" Matt inquired suddenly.

Mello blinked.

He was used to watching Matt play his games day in and day out, probably losing brain cells by the second, but never was he asked to play with him. Maybe once or twice a long time ago, when solitary gaming had become dull in Wammy's, but not lately; he had been way too busy for that.

"Excuse me?" he said, thinking that he hadn't heard him correctly. "Are you asking me to play with you?"

Matt grinned. "Yeah," he answered, although his expression clearly stated that he'd probably tie Mello down to the couch and make him play if he refused.

"Don't lie and say you've got shit to do this week, you don't and you know it," Matt stated matter-of-factly, and he was right. It showed by the fact that the blonde had ventured outside with him just to get chocolate—Mello had nothing of great importance to be doing...except playing video games with Matt.

"Alright," Mello agreed languorously, chewing as if it was the most treasured action on earth. "Fine."

Matt's taunting grin subtly shifted to a genuine one--he was about to play Mario Party with an ex-mafia boss. Hell, that wasn't as impressive as the mere thought of playing a videogame, something that the other chastised as a brain-rotting exercise with him. Or getting Mello to play anything at all. This was Matt's lucky day, then. He seemed to quicken his step on the way back to the apartment. "I call Wario."

Mello rolled his eyes.

"I wouldn't dream of stealing it from you," he said dryly, seeming to be full of sarcastic comments today. Hell if he knew what a 'Wario' was in the first place, though he had a feeling he'd be finding out soon enough.

What made things all the more interesting, however, was how the ideation of Mello playing with him seemed to make Matt rather giddy, for a lack of a better term.

Matt just as well dashed up the stairs when they came to his apartment building, and even more astonishingly, had the door open before Mello had even turned the corner. He dropped his bag of convenience store wares onto the kitchen table before shoving his way through cords and controllers to whip out his trusty old game cube and pop in Mario Party 4. "C'mon, Mello, you're player two." He'd be damned if someone was player one other than him, even Mello.

An amused grin had plastered itself on Mello's face as he followed along behind Matt at his own pace. Stoic, he sat on the couch, ever-present, humoured expression following Matt as he sought out the game system. He wasn't worried in the slightest that he had been condemned to second player.

"Right," he remarked, following along.

"This game is made of crack," Matt remarked as it started up and he deftly guided his way to a minigames menu, selecting a versus game with two computer characters thrown in for the fun of it. Speeding through the directions, Matt opted to tell Mello out loud instead. "Okay, the book pages are gonna fall down and you've got to line yourself up with the holes before you're squashed. If you're squashed... tough luck 'cause you get to sit there until the next round."

Mello blinked stupidly for the second time that day.

He liked to imagine that he was intelligent, because hell, he had been close to succeeding one of the most brilliant minds in the world. And yet, he found himself unable to grasp what was going on, let alone how to work the controller. He managed to understand enough to move his character, however, because he found himself steering the pixilated figure on the screen in little circles before he realized that his thumb was resting on the button.

How smart.

"Mello, you idiot, run!" Matt scolded, seeing the game of keeping Mello alive was of strictest importance. Wario—a stout, yellow, uglier version of Mario—proceeded to push Mello's character (Matt had graciously jabbed a few buttons and Mello had unwillingly ended up as Princess Peach) to a safe spot. The page fell and they were safely within a hole to keep from getting smushed. "Now run," Matt instructed again, dashing off to find another spot that would save his character for the next page.

Now that Mello had mastered the basic control of his character, which Matt had so graciously left out of the general instructions, he found it easier to maneuver. This time, he managed to do as was required, and kept himself alive, at least for a time.

He wouldn't lie: he sucked at video games, and he knew it. They didn't mean, however, that he'd lose without a fight. That just wasn't in the blonde's nature. So he continued to run around, pretending like he knew what he was doing, and cursing obscenely whenever something didn't go as planned.

Matt snickered, elbowing Mello in the side and nudging him in the ribs, causing a general calamity of teasing that he subjected the blonde to as they played. He, from their younger years in the orphanage, knew full well how much Mello sucked at video games...which made it all the more fun to tease him. As a page of the book was coming down with only himself and Mello left against the CPU characters, Matt guided Wario with a flick of his thumb into pushing the pink-dressed princess into harm's way. A shower of confetti popped up onto the screen and declared Wario the winner--albeit the dirty winner... but the game didn't know he'd cheated. "Hah!"

Unfortunately for Matt, Mello did notice; or maybe that was just his tendency as a sore loser kicking in.

"Hey!" he cried, shoving Matt against the side of the couch and throwing down his controller down like a child that was just deprived of its favorite toy. "You cheating bastard." He punched the other, though lightly, in the shoulder, and folded his arms in a way that only added to his appearance of looking like a pouting child.

Matt hissed in pain, although he was grinning secretively as Mello displayed his discontent for being a loser. Of course, Matt had cheated...but there weren't any rules about pushing your opponents out of safety. The game just expected you to play nicely. He grinned, looking to Mello and nudging him with a boot-clad toe.

"Aw, come on, Princess Mello get her panties in a bunch?"

Oh, no.

Mello most definitely wasn't letting Matt get away with that, but punching him again while he was injured or threatening him with his gun was out of the question, and sulking just didn't get the job done.

So, with a lack of anything else to punish the other with, he simply frowned, stood up, and then sat heavily on the redhead, keeping himself firmly planted there, and not ready to get up until the repercussions were met.

Matt had been expecting Mello to be merciless—but not quite this merciless. That was, of course, ironic, seeing as this was the lesser of three evils.

"Mel'! What the hell?" he questioned in bewilderment at the sudden acquisition of a leather-clad blonde in his lap. If this were different circumstances, that would have been hot. Hell, it was hot, but he wasn't about to say that.

"You trying to kill me?"

"Something like that," muttered Mello, but he didn't get up quite yet. On the contrary, he stayed quite adamant in his place, even getting comfortable as if he planned to stay there for awhile. Which he did, if Matt wasn't willing to comply with his demands.

Matt tried to tip the blonde off, but to no avail. A little puzzled and somewhat frustrated, he looked up at Mello and eyed him warily.

"All right, Princess. What do you want?" he questioned, unable to help the jab, even in his current predicament. He could make some sort of lewd joke, too, but he decided to hold his tongue in case Mello was going to make him pay for it.

"Hmmm," Mello mused, contemplating his demands. "I want you to admit you're a cheater, for one thing, and..." This first was a given, though he couldn't fathom what else he'd want. "You're going to make something for dinner tonight. None of that TV dinner shit."

Matt rolled his eyes, breathing a sigh at Mello's demands as though they were heart-breaking and completely horrendous. "Fine, fine," he stated reluctantly. "I'm a cheater...but you know I can't cook, Mel'."

Well, he didn't suck per se, but he had no idea why Mello would want to willingly consume something he cooked. "I can make pasta and that's about it. And eggs. You want pasta or eggs for dinner? Should I go all out and get you candles too?"

"You're hilarious," Mello sighed, leaning back against Matt, because, well, he could, and because he wanted to chastise him for the crack. To be honest, the blonde didn't wholly care whether the other could cook or not, as long as he wasn't forced to eat frozen food. Then again, he could always just stick to his chocolate, but that wouldn't keep him up for long.

"Pasta will be fine." He said this all quite contentedly, and with an air of finality.

Matt grunted to show his displeasure, although he didn't make Mello get off. Not that he was capable of making Mello do anything at the present time, but all the same…he could pretend that he wasn't completely helpless under Mello's ass.

"Fine. Pasta. What about those candles? I'm completely serious."

"It'd be a shame to disappoint you," Mello muttered, adjusting his position for the hell of it.

Matt shook his head, wholly amused by the situation. It'd been a while since Mello was audacious enough to be ridiculous, and he was finding that the other's joking manner was lightening the prospect of going to Japan quite a lot.

"Pasta by candle light, then," he confirmed, rolling his eyes slightly again. "Now will you get off?"

"As you wish," droned the blonde, removing his leather-clad ass from its precarious perch and returning to his opposite seat on the other side of the couch. That was fun, to say the least; maybe he'd do it more often now that he knew it made more of an impact than merely punching him or scowling, which had grown to be his patented way of expressing disapproval.

Oblivious to Mello's devious plans for the future, Matt relaxed and leaned back against the couch, watching the Mario Party main screen glitter in front of them. Well, even if it did cost him making dinner, he would have to say that playing and cheating Mello in the old game was well worth the trouble.

"When do you want dinner?" Matt asked after a while, realizing that they rarely ate at any specific time.

"Hmmm?"

To be truthful, Mello hadn't been listening all that closely, but he did manage to discern the question. Mello pretended to contemplate the question for a moment as he closed his eyes and leaned against the arm of the couch.

"The afternoon," he said, leaving the time generally open for Matt to get off his lazy ass and make dinner.

Dinner in the afternoon. It was just like Mello to do something like that...well, at least the other had been gracious enough to give him time to laze around a bit. Taking full advantage of the time, Matt proceeded to close his eyes and get comfortable.

"'Kay. Take a nap or somethin', Mel'."

Mello contented himself in opening one eye, and, being too lazy to move his head, only swiveled his gaze to catch a glimpse of the other. He regarded him for a moment, as though waiting for him to say something else. When he didn't, the blonde spoke:

"Are you telling me what to do?" he asked lazily.

Matt smirked slightly, not bothering to open his eyes and look at the other. He sounded lazy and harmless enough anyway. "Yeah," he stated without hesitance. "I am." More of giving him a very pointed suggestion, but it was as good as telling Mello what to do. Plus, the idea of him telling the fiery blonde to 'take a nap', was highly amusing.

"Fine," Mello murmured, but was already nodding off. He seemed to be fatigued at the oddest of times.

Once he had fallen asleep, his stretched out position over the couch shrunk as he curled into a ball, arms, however, draped over the armrests.

Matt chuckled at the sight of his friend curled up on the couch and stood up, proceeding to the kitchen to get dinner started. He was a slow cook—he either fucked things up badly enough that he had to start over, or he tried too hard to get things just right. Either way, he needed an early start without Mello over his shoulder to even begin hoping to have dinner ready by the time the other wanted it. Matt threw his vest over the sleeping form on the couch before he set to quietly gathering a couple of pots, noodles, and Prego sauce.

Mello woke up not long after, but succeeded in giving Matt his time to begin before he was roused by the movement in the kitchen and his own state of being wide-awake. Finally he felt like his time to sleep was adequate, and seeing this, probably wouldn't fall asleep again tonight until late.

Dragging himself off the couch, the blonde loped into the kitchen, staring at Matt a moment before disregarding him and veering off to retrieve a bar of chocolate.

By that time, Matt was attentively tending to the boiling bowtie noodles in the pot next to the one that he was heating up the sauce in.

"I hate canned sauce," he muttered to Mello as the other joined him long enough to grab some more chocolate. He knew Mello probably didn't care if it was canned sauce or not, but as it were, Matt had to have someone to complain to. He rummaged around until he found some cayenne pepper, throwing a dash into the sauce and stirring it. "Sleep well?"

"Better than I did when I was with you," he said. "I wasn't being woken up every five minutes."

Alright, so this wasn't necessarily true, because (whether he admitted it or not) he actually liked sleeping with Matt; it was damn comfortable and it was almost like things were alright, if just for a minute.

Matt scowled, unhelpfully unaware of Mello's actual content with sleeping with him.

"I didn't wake you up every five minutes." Only every few hours...all for good reason, he'd like to think! Well. He hardly remembered what his reasons were anymore, but that was all right. He stabbed at the noodles before deciding that they were ready and thusly poured them through the strainer situated over the sink. " 'Sides, you know that couch is hell to sleep on."

"I know," Mello replied, coming around to stare over his companion's shoulder and pace back and forth. "But you know I'd never admit to liking to sleep with someone unless they were a hot chick." He smirked, finding this minimally amusing.

The truth was, he had never slept with anyone (besides Matt, and that was for special reasons). His personal life was rather boring, which was why he hated talking about it. Wild Mello had never had an intimate relationship; he only felt they got in the way.

"So, are you saying you liked sleeping with me?" Matt questioned, a sly smirk sliding in Mello's direction as he managed to neatly get the noodles onto two plates to sit and cool a bit while he worked at the sauce a little more, tasting it as he went and adjusting accordingly. Matt knew that Mello's young life hadn't consisted of girls, but of course, that was back at Wammy's and neither of them were exactly horny--well. Almost.

Mello cocked an eyebrow.

"That depends," he said, backing up slightly to allow Matt to do what he needed to. "Are you a hot chick?"

The blonde continued to eat his chocolate, nearing the end of it quite quickly. This was convenient, really, because it appeared that the redhead was almost finished. For all of his talk about his lax cooking skills, the food looked appetizing.

Matt only smiled at Mello's shot back at him, his silence indicating that the other had won this round of the game. Indeed, no, Matt was not a hot chick. Although, he would like to say that he had the more flattering of the two covered. He ladled the sauce onto the bow-tie noodles, ushering Mello away.

"Make yourself useful—set the table or something. The candles are in the first drawer," Matt added, smirking.

Oh, yes, candles; Mello had almost forgotten. Nevertheless, he went to get them, rummaging around in the drawer and retreating with what looked like a misshapen, half-melted stick of wax. He examined it slowly, wondering why Matt had candles in the first place. Oh, well, that was his business.

The male took out some paper plates and silverware as well, slinging it half-heartedly onto the table, catching site of a cigarette lighter abandon on the counter. To add the finishing touches, he lit the wicks, stepping back to admire the sight with more than a little amusement.

Matt went to both places, serving the pasta that he'd cooked in not a long moment's time, admiring Mello and his handiwork with a pleased, whimsical sort of grin.

"The candles are from when the power went out a while ago," he offered, glancing at the single one between their places and realizing that it was probably weird for such a misshapen thing to be in his possession, even if it had been intact. "All right, come on, eat before the food gets cold...Princess." He couldn't help it now--he was grinning. Ever since he'd imagined Mello wearing Princess Peach's pink dress...

"Don't make me sit on you again," Mello reminded dangerously, dropping himself into one of the seats and gazing at the candles with something akin to odd entertainment. This was, after all, Matt and Mello's dinner. The corny candles and pasta were just too much. Nevertheless, the blonde was abnormally hungry, and began shoveling food down his throat faster than he could swallow it all. He would give the gamer props: it actually was good.

Matt shut up at the threat—he didn't actually mind Mello sitting on him, but he would find it incredibly difficult to eat in peace with a leather-clad blonde in his lap--hot or not.

"Geeze, don't choke," Matt warned as he ate his own cooked food—he did have to say that it was a lot better than frozen food, but to hell if he was going to be forced into performing CPR on his best friend.

Mello shot him a look, one that said 'leave me alone; I'm hungry.' Still, his pace slowed considerably, and he was able to taste the food better. That didn't stop him from finishing his first plate of food, and, after examining what was left in the bowl, scooped some more onto his plate and began to devour it again.

"I'm hungry," he reasoned between bites. Chocolate was delicious, but it didn't satiate hunger like a real meal.

Matt laughed, still eating at his snail's pace. He'd never been bothered to eat fast—even when he was hungry. He'd just eat a lot and cart it all to his room if he couldn't finish it in time, or something. He was too lazy to eat any faster than a normal person under normal circumstances. He didn't blame Mello, though, even if he himself could only stomach about two thirds of his plate. The rest, he pushed around until he made random shapes. Then, he grew bored of the game and got up to grab a couple cans of soda, placing one in front of Mello before taking the other back to his seat.

"C'mon, wash it down with something before you stuff yourself to death."

Mello complied almost immediately, popping open the can of soda and downing it in one go. Okay, he wasn't thirsty, but once he got in his tempo it was impossible to stop. Besides, he felt famished, like he hadn't eaten in days, weeks even. That just went to show how unsatisfying microwaveable food was, in comparison to food that had been made—if not from scratch, then close to it.

"Thanks," he said, being surprisingly genuine in his gratitude.

The blonde was, for some reason, horrendously funny when he was acting like a starved animal. Maybe it was just interesting to see the other acting something other than impassive. Matt smiled a little over his own soda—although, the smile was slightly mischievous. "Sure," he answered, pushing his noodles around a little more before finally flinging one across the table at Mello. Thusly, his smile widened a little, swiftly shifting to a smirk.

"Hey," growled the distracted Mello, who had enough noodles left on his plate to throw two back, resisting the temptation to stick his tongue out as he did so. It was one thing for him to sink so low as to engage in the food throwing game, but it was another thing entirely for him to stick his tongue out. He decided he wouldn't turn to that level of maturity, because hell knew he had already ruined his reputation of sophistication long before now.

Matt blocked the noodles with a napkin, the feat proving to be easy enough because he'd figured that Mello would throw something back at him. "Hah!" he snorted in the other's face, although he refrained from throwing anything else back. He didn't exactly want to turn his apartment in to more of a mess than it already was, what with the blood and computers everywhere. The pasta sauce would just make Matt thing of a deranged murder scene.

"You just had to ruin a nice dinner, didn't you, Matt?" inquired Mello sardonically, grinning before allowing it to disappear as he picked up what was left of his plate and tossed it in the trash. Eh, he had lost his appetite, anyway, and his stomach had finally caught up with his monstrous eating, making him feel rather full.

He cast a waning glance at the sack of chocolate on the counter, debating with himself on whether or not he would demolish another bar.

"Aw come on, I didn't ruin it. You just have to be a spoil sport," Matt responded, clearing the rest of the table, and, with a bemused smile, blew out the candle. He decided to pop a couple of those new painkillers to see if they lived up to what they boasted, carrying around his can of coke and daring to light up a cigarette.

"Go ahead, have one for dessert," the gamer teased as he noticed Mello eyeing the bag of chocolate.

Mello snatched a bar from the bag, peeling it and commencing to eat it slowly, as though that would fix his 'problem' of cleaning through his chocolate too quickly.

"Hmmm," he said, glaring at the newly lit cigarette. "Go outside with that." The elder knew that there was only a slim chance of him doing as he was told, but he could at least try, as he always did. Stubborn Matt...and he said Mello was an asshole.

"I just cooked dinner and you're going to make me smoke outside?" Matt protested, occupying the length of the couch and settling in it quite comfortably. He smirked a bit, blowing smoke off in some other direction that wasn't towards Mello. At least he was kind of nice about it.

"Damn right I am," Mello said, returning to the living room as well to stare over at Matt with a haughty gaze, as though waiting for the other to get up and leave. When it was clear that he wasn't going to, the blonde jabbed him smartly in the side. "Fat bastard. If you're not going to go outside, the least you could do is move over so I can sit down, too." Not that he'd stay there for very long; restless Mello would end up getting up to pace eventually.

Matt jumped a little, groaning his complaints at Mello before drawing his legs up to make room for Mello. He only did this because he knew that Mello would be getting up and about again soon, or else he wouldn't have bothered moving.

"Geeze. you could just ask, Mel'," Matt quipped at the other, rolling his eyes a little bit as he readjusted to his new position on the couch.

Mello sat contentedly, receiving that thrill for getting what he wanted immediately when he demanded. Then again, this usually was the case with Matt, because he never said no, not to the blonde. Sometimes that irked him, and sometimes that made him feel superior.

"Mhhmmm," he said dully. "And what makes you think you can still call me Mel', Matty?" Two could play it that game; if Matt was going to be obnoxious, Mello would be obnoxious right back, and enjoy every second of it.

"That," he stated pointedly, wrinkling his nose at the name bestowed on him. He wasn't so keen on hearing that—Mel' at least had the smallest shred of awesomeness—'Matty', on the other hand, did not. "And even you have more dignity than to kick a man when he's down, right?"

"Obviously, I do," Mello said curtly, making himself as comfortable as possible on the couch, which was admittedly less comfortable than Matt's lap. Go figure.

He still wasn't tired, and his restive nature probably played a role in that. That worried him slightly, because if he couldn't sleep tonight, he'd return to his bad sleeping habits, and therefore would begin to grow even more tired.

However, the chances of that happening were fairly slim, because Matt was bound to fall asleep holding Mello tightly to his chest like the previous night, just because Mello was that damn comfortable and that damn good to hold. The expletives were necessary, of course, to retain all needed badassery. He smirked at Mello's obvious discomfort, making a point of shifting his knees slightly to adequately taunt the other.

"You want to sit in my lap again, Princess?"

Mello treated him to a sneer, though was inwardly exasperated by the fact that the name 'Princess' had stuck. It was a good thing he could whip out 'Matty' when he needed to add a name to his retort; otherwise, he would have to get even with something equally humiliating.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said, eyeing the other surreptitiously.

"Well, you are a hot blonde." Matt pointed out impishly, doing his best to not start cracking up over nothing--or at least, just Mello being a hot, blonde princess in his lap. Oh yeah.

Mello stood, staring at Matt gravely, and then stalked over, unabashed, and climbed onto the other's lap, straddling him with a smirk.

"Now you can say you've had a hot blonde on your lap not once, but twice," he said. "Hell knows you couldn't say that about all of those hookers of girlfriends you've had in the past."

He then commenced to punch Matt in the shoulder, showing little mercy. "And that's for calling me Princess."

Matt was a little surprised that Mello had taken the initiative in straddling him rather than simply plopping his ass down--but he didn't complain. He did yelp, though, when Mello punched him in the shoulder.

"Mello!" he half-whined, squirming underneath the other. "You jackass." Although, it was pretty called for...

"What?" the elder inquired innocently, but was unable to conceal that smirk that was yet again crawling over his face.

"You know, since I know you're not going anywhere today, and I'm comfortable where I am, I think I'll just stick around." He took a brief bite of his chocolate, which, since he had taken the initiative to eat slower, wasn't even half gone, whereas any other time it would be gone already. Afterward, he folded his arms, busying his gaze by pretending to be fascinated with the wall opposite him. He figured this was pretty good pay back for everything Matt had subjected him to this past week.

Matt groaned, wriggling slightly and laying his legs flat on the couch, scowling. All right, so he didn't really object to having Mello sitting on him, but he was going to bitch and groan about it because it was absolutely necessary. Besides, his legs were going to fall asleep some time. Eventually, though, he gave up and closed his eyes again, looking highly disgruntled behind his goggles.

"You're going to get uncomfortable sitting up like that," he stated pointedly, opening his eyes again to look at Mello.

"Hmmm, you think so?" Mello said. Now that he provoking irritation from the other, this was getting rather fun. Matt was right, though: Mello would eventually grow tired of his sole entertainment, but for now he would remain, polishing off what was left of his chocolate and doing whatever possible to get even. The redhead had, after all, humiliated him one too many times that day, and the past days for that matter. Mello was like a dog; he liked to establish dominance.

"Yeah, I mean, what did I ever do to you?" Matt challenged, knowing very well that he had done something or another during these past few days to merit this treatment...he just didn't remember what these things were. And hell, Mello had shot him, so he would like to think whatever small tortures he could inflict upon the other would be worthy enough of payback that he wouldn't need to have Mello assault him like this.

Mello's gauge of revenge, however, didn't work the same way that Matt's did. Being shot was not the same as being looked down upon, and since Mello had been looked down upon his entire life, getting the same treatment from Matt warranted something beyond the extent of a physical wound. Besides, he had treated that...

"You're being a douchebag," he pointed out dryly.

"I am not!" Matt protested, opening both eyes fully now, for he had been half-lidded and slightly falling asleep before. Even with Mello on him. Hell, the other's ass was keeping his hips warm, so he did have to say that he was quite comfortable, sandwiched between the couch and Mello's crotch or not.

"Tell me how I'm being a douchebag," he argued, propping himself up on his right side without so much a twinge of pain--these pain killers really did one hell of a job. It was a good thing, too, for the money they'd cost him.

"You really are a moron, Matt," sighed Mello lowly, keeping himself upright by snaking his legs around the other's waist. "Think about it. That's what got you this far, hasn't it?"

It was clear that the blonde wasn't going to give a straight answer, that was, not until he felt like Matt deserved to be spoken straight with. Until then, he would skate his true point with vague answers and constricting questions.

"Am not," Matt offered as a childish protest, scowling still as he attempted to rack his brain for what he'd done to piss Mello off as of late. Of course, he'd done a lot of things, but he couldn't think of anything off the top of his head that would merit this punishment. Awkwardly, he shifted when Mello secured leather-clad legs around his waist, preventing the possibility of comfortably lying down again.

"Come on, Mello, you're being an asshat on purpose now."

"Yeah, I am," said Mello flatly. The thing was, he would take revenge on people even if he didn't want to divulge his reasoning for said revenge. It was an inside kind of thing, to where if it made sense to him, it was an acceptable reason to be a douche. However, thinking of his true intentions of torturing Matt, he realized that he didn't feel like explaining.

Matt groaned and leaned back as best as he could, because, even with the pain killers, the strain that he was putting on his muscles was really starting to get on his nerves. He was silent for a couple minutes before he turned to look at Mello with a roguish smile. "Think if I kissed you again, I could figure it out?" They both knew that Matt's mother's reasoning was bull shit for a child's brain, but Matt couldn't help but ask. That just meant that Matt was asking now for the sole purpose of the thing itself, which, though it didn't really assuage Mello all that much, coaxed that smirk to broaden. As it was in the redhead's nature to kiss hot blondes on his lap, it was in the elder's nature to egg him on.

"Maybe," he said airily.

Matt was game for that, but he wasn't going to give in so easily. He did, however, manage to sit up completely, careful not to dislodge Mello from his precarious place.

"Yeah? What are my chances?" he questioned, playing along with this whole game that they were finding newly established.

"Well, I never did succeed L," Mello said. Despite the fact that he was joking, there was a certain bitterness in his tone. Still, he played the game expertly; after all, he was the one who had encouraged it in the first place. "But I'd say your chances are..." He paused in mock thought. "Ninety-five percent."

These were bullshit figures of course.

"Oh yeah?" Matt stated pointlessly, although the words did give him the chance to inch his lips just a smidgen closer in tantalizingly slow time before he brushed them against Mello's. Still playing the game.

"Mhhmmm," confirmed Mello, tensing up at the contact. Sure, he had been kissed once before by the other, but that went by quickly and painlessly, whereas this game was dragging on longer than intended. He exhaled sharply, before finally catalyzing the events by meshing their lips together.

Matt knew that he was being a horrible person; prolonging harsher contact with tiny ministrations that were enough to drive any person up the wall. So of course, it was terribly fitting that he subject Mello to them, he who was impatient as fuck. Really, as well as Matt knew Mello, he should have at least expected some semblance of impatience coming from the other—but the blonde taking the initiative completely caught him off-guard. Nevertheless, he had his reputation to hold up as a kisser, so he shucked aside all manner of shock and quickly kissed back.

Now that Mello wasn't being tormented by the other, and had gone through with the point that their little game was intended to end with, Mello felt that it was appropriate to draw away, and maybe get up as well. But he didn't. Whether his aim was to annoy Matt (which he probably wasn't doing in the first place) or something more self-oriented, he kept put. Hell, he even opened his mouth a little.

Matt, on the other hand, had what you called insatiable carnal hunger--that, or just plain 'he was a horny git'. He could say that he was trying to seek meaning in this or whatever, but that wasn't true. In his defense, though, he didn't necessarily want to get into Mello's pants or anything...he just wanted to kiss Mello and mean it. By hell, he did. Shattering the barrier between friendship and whatever else was in the great beyond, Matt's tongue slid forth across their lower lips before daring to cautiously venture farther.

If anyone else had tried a move like that on Mello, he would have punched them off of their seat.

Matt, however, was a different story for some reason that the blonde didn't know and didn't want to know. So his mouth opened wider, tongue reaching out hesitantly to meet the other's.

Matt's head was wandering away into the clouds now. That, or it was just slowly storming over into a big black nothingness that he couldn't quite handle--it made him want to a.) kiss Mello harder, or b.) break away. Of course, he had felt this just two seconds beforehand, so…he figured...why not. It couldn't hurt, could it? And Mello, for the most part, seemed to be pretty willing. Satisfying himself over the qualm that he might be forcing anything on the normally assertive blonde, Matt kissed his friend full on and hell, he enjoyed it.

Though he'd never admit it, this was the first real kiss he'd ever had, and if he'd ever before been told that it would be with Matt, he'd have laughed his ass off. Or maybe shoot that person; it depended on his mood. Now, though, he wondered why the hell he hadn't done it before. It put a whole new spin on the term 'friends', though he knew he'd never really considered the redhead a friend in the generally accepted sense of the word.

But that was to be worried about later, when he wasn't currently occupied by the foreign invader in his mouth. Once he had gotten used to the sensation, Mello sought to establish his place as the dominant one, pressing harder against the other, taken by this sudden newness.

Throughout this, Matt concluded that Mello...tasted like chocolate. He tasted like chocolate and a damn virgin of a chocolate bar too--not that you could tell who was a virgin kisser and who wasn't by locking lips with them, but Matt generally figured that Mello would go for it first, even if it was with him—so he was willing to venture a guess that Mello a.) hadn't kissed anyone in a while b.) hadn't kissed at all, or c.), was generally weirded out by kissing Matt.

However, with the fact that the other quickly pushed forward and took control of the situation, Matt abandoned all his ideas and just settled on the fact that Mello was a damn good kisser, and if he hadn't done it much before, he certainly was a natural. In a few seconds, though, he broke away by just a half inch or two--he needed to breathe. There were those who could breathe through their nose while kissing, and Matt wasn't one of them. Or at least, he didn't want to, because it just felt weird and animalistic.

"I taste like nicotine," he reminded the other, smirking between breaths.

Mello's breaths were ragged, because he had forgotten about the need for breath during their little session. Now that he had recalled his human necessities, he felt like he was about to pass out, and immediately thought of his chocolate when they had broken away.

"You know," he said, though the thought of snogging Matt while the other had smoked only moments ago was still repulsive, "I don't give a shit." It wasn't as though he tasted phenomenal; it was just the feeling itself that superseded every notion of revulsion.

Matt laughed—he hadn't been expecting to hear that from Mello, the one who was so completely repulsed by his smoking habits. He was slightly put off by the idea of kissing Mello—maybe because he was finally succumbing to those sorts of feelings—he'd...well. When you were wholly devoted to someone the way Matt was, to skirt around them and be wary of their temper all the time and to never hug them or hold them—basically, to be left to your own devices with such a strong feeling just…it really messed with you.

Now that he'd just kissed Mello, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. All he did was lean forward slightly, his head coming to a rest against Mello's shoulder.

"You okay? Don't die on me now." He questioned casually, his lips sneaking upwards again, curious for another taste of fueling his desire—carnal or not.

"Yeah," Mello said fiercely, though he didn't know exactly what he was agreeing to. The only things he detected off the bat were those things that were familiar to him, since he had just been introduced to something totally new. The gamer coming back up for more was something he noticed, oddly enough, and he sought to meet the other halfway.

Matt wasn't so tentative this time—hell, he was close to ravishing Mello's mouth for the answer to all his whims before the other could take over again. He didn't like to think too much before, during, or after a kiss, but he was finding that his mind was absolutely reeling. He had to try very hard to keep focused on the moment, despite the fact that the moment was definitely something to be focused on.

Mello, though, was absolutely gone.

He was beyond thoughts, feelings (besides the ones that were tracing infinitesimal patterns in his gut, making it even more difficult to breathe than usual), or any knowledge all. Kira? For all the blonde could comprehend, he didn't exist. Near? Fuck him. He probably wouldn't have known that Matt existed if he wasn't here now, tasting the other, sensing him under his insensitive fingertips, which had anchored themselves on his shoulders.

In due time, though, Matt pulled away again--this time for both breath and his sanity. He was subjected to slow, heavy breathing against Mello's chest, his fingers latched somewhere at the other's ribcage. He had been at Mello's leather-clad hips, but his hands had slipped higher to prevent any inappropriate activity. He felt slightly faint—although he wasn't sure if that was from the sheer insanity of kissing Mello, or the fact that he seem to have deleted the option of 'breathing' from his mind.

"Do you want me to get off now?" the blonde inquired, quite seriously, because if left to his own devices he may just sit on Matt some more, because this thought was most definitely not objectionable in the current delusional mind of Mello. He watched black splotches dance hypnotically in front of his face, which had been conjured simply by the lack of breath, and maybe partially by lack of sense.

"No, then I have to move," Matt He pointed out, seeing as he was, indeed, leaning against Mello and still ardently clutching to him like his very life and mind and body depended on it. That, and he was quite comfortable. Mello wasn't heavy in the least bit—probably because Matt's legs now lacked circulation--and he was warm besides. The leather also was a weird, slick texture beneath his fingers, and quite frankly, he liked to hear Mello's fervidly beating heart in his chest. At least the other wasn't impassive to this.

"Well, then," Mello said. "I have good news."

He blinked a few times, blonde hair dusting his face with its golden tips, having been abandoned and left to hang in front of his face. He didn't mind so much, but the pleasant warmth that Matt had begun to be had evolved into a sticky heat, which, no matter the circumstance, didn't sit well with him.

"I'm sufficiently exhausted. Good job." It was true; he felt like dropping off to sleep right there.

"Yeah?" Matt commented, sounding amused. "You have no stamina. I can't imagine how bad you must be in bed."

Trust Matt to come up with something like that. He nudged Mello slightly, leaning back and feeling a stuffy heat rise in his system that, oddly, hadn't been there when he was just as well fastened to Mello.

"Come on then. We'll head to bed before you pass out right here," Matt warned, letting go and leaning back against his right hand to let Mello up.

"Shut the fuck up," Mello murmured, but had no desire to argue any farther than that. He detached himself from Matt and stood slowly, forcing himself to stand fast to avoid swaying on the spot. He had never felt this weak in his life, and to be honest, it kind of scared him. Still, he kept himself upright waiting for Matt before heading straight to the bed. Not even bothering to discard his boots, the male threw himself roughly onto the blankets.

Matt was wary of the pins and needles racing up his legs and the fact that he felt like he was going to keel over and die at any given moment. He would blame that on the painkillers and Mello's intoxicating kiss—hell, both of them gave him a run for his money.

Ordinarily, Matt didn't like sleeping with his shoes on, but when he showed up a moment or two after Mello, he crawled into bed and only barely managed to throw his goggles off to the side before burying his face in a pillow.

_Geeze. He just kissed Mello._

_Mello just kissed him._

_Fuck it, they just made out._

Perhaps if Mello had enough strength to stay awake for awhile longer and think, the way Matt was doing, he would be fathoming along the same lines. Just because he was asleep when he hit the pillow didn't mean that he still wasn't bothered by all of this.

That was probably why he dreamed of it all night, that hum that usually rose in the back of his throat silenced by strange images of Matt...yet none of those nightmares about Kira or Near surfaced in his mind. He didn't know who to thank for that.

Matt, despite his tire, laid in bed for a while—a long while. He wallowed in the heat of his sheets and clothes—eventually shucking his shoes and shirt to opt for the cooler air of the room on his bare skin, his blankets lay to waste beneath him. He was drowsy but wide awake all at once—the sluggishness in his veins from the pain killers begged him to go to sleep, but watching Mello and listening to him just lay there and breathe enticed him to stay awake. Finally, though, he fell victim to a restless, conflicting slumber—the kind that he hadn't had in a while, actually.

Not since Mello left.

--

Mello was tired as hell, and yet he still woke up in the middle of the night, finding himself wide awake and unable to ease himself back into sleep again. He cast a look at Matt, regarding him as if watching would determine everything. Unfortunately, it didn't, and a sudden craving for chocolate reminded him that he had abandoned his earlier bar during their kiss. An odd feeling gripped him as he recounted this, but he shrugged it off so that he could properly find his way into the living room and pick up the bar, which was left exactly where he had remembered it.

Matt, still impeccably in tune to whenever Mello woke up and got out of bed, stirred and propped himself up just a few moments shy of when Mello did. Figuring that maybe Mello was hungry or something, Matt slid out of bed without bothering for his shirt again—it was still ridiculously hot. He wandered out to the living room and smiled faintly to see that Mello was just after his chocolate.

"Cravings wake you up again?" He teased, idly sticking his hands into his pockets.

Mello turned his gaze over to the other, chewing on the chocolate wantonly before taking a few measured steps back toward the room. He could at least try to get some more sleep...

"You could say that," he said, resisting the temptation to yawn, and preventing it by shoving a good majority of the leftover chocolate bar into his mouth.

The male was vaguely aware that he was still wearing his boots, but didn't bother to take them off, even if he did plan to go back to bed. It was just an unnecessary effort.

Matt gave the other a sort of half-grin before meandering back into his room, waving a hand unguidedly at Mello.

"Well, try to get some sleep, Mel'," he pointed out, like the other wasn't thinking that already. You couldn't blame him, though--it was equally, if not more, likely for Mello to wake up and stay up all night than it was for him to go back to sleep. The gamer proceeded to crawl back into bed, lying flat on his stomach for once. The pain killers did just about that—completely killed the pain. Matt relished in the feeling, closing his eyes, but waiting for Mello to come back.

After a moment's hesitance, the blonde did just that, returning to the bed to sit on the side of it, dangling his legs off as he devoured the rest of the chocolate, crumpled up the wrapper, and then toss it on the floor. He'd get it later...if at all.

After his dedicated task of seeing to the rest of the sweet, Mello slid onto the bed, stretching himself out upon it like a particularly indulged cat. It wasn't the most comfortable of places to sleep, but he amazingly found himself slipping off again.

Satisfied that Mello was going to stay put for the rest of the night, Matt's mind wandered off to lala land again. The thought of edging up to Mello and chancing falling asleep close to him again crossed the gamer's mind, but he decided to heed his better senses. Sneaking up to Mello would a.) be too hot, and b.) could result in some bodily injury. After an interesting turn of events, Matt was slightly concerned that the other would be more unpredictable now than ever. But he could be mistaken.


	14. Chapter 14

**juyon.**

Come morning time, Matt woke up feeling like shit.

Granted, given the circumstances and the rather unforgiving chain of events, Matt couldn't say that he blamed himself much for it. Surprisingly, he was up before Mello--although, considering that he had more or less slept the whole way through the night, this should have been predictable. Lazy and shitty as he was feeling, though, all he did was grope for his handheld and resume his urban ninja game.

And, as patterns go, Mello woke up not long after, the first thing he heard being the obnoxious clicking of video game keys. He took a minute to predict getting up, and then did so, rising and casting the other a withering glare before sliding numbly out of the bed.

Boots met carpet with a muffled 'bmmf', and the rest of his body came with, until he was fully standing.

"Hey, Mel', you wanna get me a couple of those pain killers and a soda...? Please?" Matt questioned, tacking on his manners in an attempt to be less of a douche. He didn't consider his manner of asking for things particularly douche-like, but he decided that he was going to play it safe for a little bit. Playing it safe also meant not getting out of bed, because...he didn't really feel like it. That being, he felt like if he were to wander out of the confines of his comfort he'd fall flat on his face for reasons unknown.

Mello considered refusing, because, though this was merely a request from someone who probably needed what he was asking for, doing anything he was asked felt like he was taking orders.

"Fine," he said, stalking into the kitchen to retrieve not only what he was asked for, but also another bar of chocolate. To hell with controlling indulgences.

He returned and tossed both onto the bedspread.

"Thanks," Matt responded, genuinely grateful. Mello was probably saving him a cracked skull. He took a couple pills after cracking the soda open, reclining back against a couple of flattened pillows and picking up his game again, expertly controlling it with one hand while the other was still occupied with his drink. Maybe they could go out and get ice cream today. That sounded like fun.

Mello stood there awhile, watching him play the game with a conflicted expression on his face. Soon, though, he stalked back into the kitchen to eat his chocolate, all the while vaguely wondering why he hadn't stayed. Maybe not knowing was for the best.

He polished it off quickly, unlike the bar that had preceded it, and disposed of the wrapper before searching the kitchen for nothing in particular and going back into the room to sit on the end of the bed.

Matt had considered getting up and going after Mello, but a particularly daunting headache and an obvious laziness kept him from doing much more than considering.

"Hey, do you want to go for ice cream later?" he questioned the other, feeling completely ridiculous in this quest for something as normal as ice cream, but in the past few days, they'd gone to the arcade, gone to the candy shop, played video games, made out, eaten a candle-light dinner...ice cream scarcely seemed like a strange thing against all that.

The blonde turned slightly to watch Matt, sizing him up as though trying to determine whether the other was being serious or not. He didn't notice anything incriminating.

"Are you serious?" he inquired. Sure, they had done a whole bunch of abnormal (well, for them; for other people they were daily things) things in the past week, but hell, he didn't expect to be asked to go get ice cream. It was a bit...random. Mello dismissed the sneaking desire to label it as 'endearing'.

Matt smiled somewhat puerile sort of way, nodding. "Yeah, I'm serious," he answered, knowing full well that his odd request would have elicited this kind of response from Mello. He couldn't help asking, though. It was a good question and, for some reason, walking around and terrorizing the general public with solely their appearances and ice cream cones sounded incredibly appealing.

"Why?"

Obviously the blonde was making this a lot more complicated than it was intended to be, but the request of going out and getting ice cream of all things still hadn't settled well in him. He imagined what would happen if they did go, summoning images of them, looking quite out-of-place in their...unique clothing and walking around with ice cream cones. He inwardly laughed.

"Why?" Matt echoed, having thought that the purpose of ice cream was worldly known. It was, after all, a universal dessert. Strangely, though, even though the meaning was supposedly so easily divulged, he couldn't think of a reason. "It tastes good? I'm really fucking hot and I can't stop thinking about ice cream? You probably haven't had ice cream in years?" There were plenty of good reasons.

Now, Mello cracked a grin. All right, those _were_ some damn good reasons, and it was true; he hadn't had ice cream in years, which was a disappointment. Then again, when you were a mafia bigwig, there wasn't much time or room to eat ice cream—on a weekly basis or otherwise.

"Alright," he said, part of him wondering why the hell he agreed.

Because it tasted good, because apparently Matt was hot, and because he hadn't ice cream in years. Oh, yeah.

Matt grinned--the day was still young, but they could go now. Who knew? Leaving the apartment early might mean that they could do more interesting things. Things like going to the arcade again, or something. That would be fun. He, after all, hadn't left Mello that time that the blonde had given him the surprising option of remaining in the arcade while he went on.

The excitable gamer abandoned his game and soda, swiftly standing and swaying on the spot. Shit, that reminded him.

"Mel', do you think we ought to change these?" he questioned, plucking at the bandages that wound around his chest. A good-sized spot to the left was darkened with dried blood, but Matt couldn't tell if it was worth changing yet.

Mello frowned, examining the wound for a moment before shrugging.

"We might as well," he said, not exactly sure of the signs that told whether a gunshot wound was due to be redressed or not. Still, it never hurt, especially not when it could mean the difference between health and an infection, and he seriously didn't feel like being responsible for that happening, not when he had just thought that the other was cured.

Mello was probably right--it couldn't hurt. "Can you grab the bandages and shit? I think it's still in the living room," he asked, looking to the other for a second to offer something of a wan half-smile. He didn't know exactly why, but he was aware that Mello had qualms with taking any sort of direction, request or not. He supposed it was just his nature.

Still, these directions Mello had no problem with taking, as he was about to do them himself. Slipping into the living room, he retrieved the medicinal supplies and came back, taking out what was necessary before casting a glance at the redhead.

"Do you need help taking off your bandages?" he asked, unwinding yet another roll of the gauze-like material.

"Probably," Matt answered, having managed to unfasten them and unwind them part way, but going to the left side, he was highly unwilling to move his arm much farther than necessary. It still hurt a considerable deal, but he wasn't as much of a pansy as he was the first couple of times. That, and a good downward tug usually freed it fine—just really slowly.

"I think it's infected, though," he commented off-handedly, peeking under the bandages at his chest and grimacing. He was still sort of squeamish.

Damnit.

Mello scowled; this was just fantastic. He reached up and peeled off the rest of the bandage, revealing the injury which was, indeed, infected. He rummaged through the bag, trying to find something stronger to treat it with. All he could find was the disinfectant, which was hydrogen peroxide. What was he thinking when he bought this? Sure, it would work for most wounds, but not for a bullet wound. Then again...they had limited supplies when not resorting to a hospital, and Mello most definitely would not let him go to the hospital, no matter how infected he may be.

Matt glanced down at the wound in momentary fascination—and then quickly looked away. The otherwise pale skin there was inflamed, but really, it was the yellow fluid that clung to his exposed flesh in pockets that made him shudder and stare off into the corner of the room to avoid looking again. Maybe he could have dealt with this in a less girlish manner if, you know, this wasn't his own body he was looking at.

"I think we're going to need something stronger than hydrogen peroxide, Mel'," he stated without commitment, unable to help another sneaking look down to his chest.

"No shit, Sherlock," commented Mello, shaking his head angrily before inhaling and looking back up. "But this is the strongest thing we have. We're going to need to go somewhere for a stronger disinfectant...the only place I can think of is a pharmacy, because a drug store just isn't going to carry anything better than hydrogen peroxide." He scowled and threw the jug back into the bag harshly.

Or, you know, they could do what normal people who get shot do—go to the hospital. Matt knew that this was completely out of the question, though, and thusly kept his mouth shut. "I'll be fine. I haven't died yet, have I?" he pointed out, shrugging slightly. Although, an infection would explain why he felt like shit. So Mello's kiss wasn't poison after all. "The worst it can do is give me a fever. Let's just go get ice cream and find a pharmacy, then?" He suggested, still up for the treat. He hoped that this little problem wouldn't foul Mello's mood too terribly.

What fouled Mello's mood, contrary to the other's prediction, was the fact that Matt, despite his infection, still wanted to go out and get ice cream. He sighed, using the hydrogen peroxide to dress the wound before wrapping it. He did all he could before they got to the pharmacy.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "But not necessarily in that order, right?"

Matt was a little disappointed that they wouldn't be going for ice cream first, but he was also glad that the Mello was still going to let them get it. So he just shrugged a bit and nodded.

"Right," he stated, agreeing half-heartedly. Matt was still like a little kid--the promise of getting ice cream was enough to tide him over for a boring trip to the pharmacy. He fidgeted with the bandages a little before pulling his shirt on again, slightly put off with it as though it was merely an annoyance. Maybe they could get some Tylenol while they were out, though he was starting to feel like he'd need it. "Let's get going then..."

Maybe they could go to the arcade too...

"Mhhmmm," said Mello, turning around to head toward the door. He made a side trip to the kitchen, however, taking out a couple of chocolate bars. Who knew if he needed them, considering that he was bound to get annoyed later on today, among other things. He then cast Matt a glance before heading out the door without another thought of it.

Matt pulled his vest on for the sake of pockets, stuffing his handheld, cell phone, wallet, and keys into them. He still felt entirely woozy on his feet, but the prospect of ice cream and possible old school gaming was enough to keep him upright.

"I think there's a pharmacy a couple blocks down," he commented to Mello as they made their way down the street.

Mello examined him for a minute, and then quickened his pace. The faster they got there, the more painless this would be. No matter how odd the prospect of ice cream seemed, the prospect of going through a pharmacy sounded even more tedious.

"Sure, Matt," he acknowledged, reaching to his pocket to pull on a pair of sunglasses. If he couldn't wear his jacket, he might as well wear something.

"You wanna hit the arcade later today?" he asked after a while, figuring that he might as well ask now so he'd have time to pester Mello later if he refused ths time. Eventually the other would give in or stalk off in some other direction and leave Matt to chase after him, right?

Matt dug around in his vest pockets, fishing out a crumpled packet of cigarettes, one of which he promptly lit. It was about damn time.

"You're infected," Mello said dryly. "And you still want to go play video games? What the hell is up with you?"

Somehow, Mello found it hard to believe that he was the only one who cared about Matt's well-being, and he was even more surprised that he cared at all. He used to think that the other was expendable, believe it or not.

Matt grimaced. Mello made it sound like he needed to be in quarantine or something.

"I feel fine," he smoothly lied—it wasn't a big deal anyway. He was pretty chipper, if not seriously hot, a little nauseous, and ailed with a headache. It didn't really bother him, though, so why not go to the arcade?

"Why not, anyway? The arcade is fun. You beat me last time, too." He needed to get Mello back, after all.

Mello rolled his eyes, smirking slightly and letting it fade before casting his gaze up in hopes of seeing the pharmacy.

"It's _fun_?" he repeated. "You're amazing sometimes." But he decided not to deny the other; it seemed like it was futile anyway, since the redhead was probably going to make him eventually. Besides, why not?

On a whim, Matt turned the upcoming corner, peering down the street as though he was expecting to see the pharmacy. Well, maybe if they walked a little further. Matt didn't exactly have a great sense of direction, but he had the greatest luck just stumbling onto things. He grinned a little, though, when he realized that Mello hadn't turned down his suggestion of going to the arcade. An unspoken agreement was as good as a definite yes in Matt's mind.

"Excellent. Let's find this damn pharmacy so we can have some fun."

Mello could have replied disdainfully, but he restrained himself long enough to come upon the pharmacy at last, turning into it and approaching the counter. He looked at the person behind it once before looking back at Matt, unsure if the other knew exactly what he needed.

"What do you need?" he asked, taking a stab at checking with the gamer before he inquired it from the pharmacist.

"Something to deal with infections and Tylenol?" Matt answered uncertainly—he wasn't a medical expert here. He really couldn't care less what they got, either. He just wanted ice cream. And maybe to sit down somewhere--all this walking made him tired, even if they had just traveled the span of a couple blocks.

"Well you're fucking helpful," Mello murmured, turning to the counter again to request the strongest non-prescription infection medication they had, along with some Tylenol. When the pharmacist returned, the blonde stepped out of the way to allow Matt access.

"You're paying." After all, he had no money; not that he would ever pay for anything himself anyway.

Matt couldn't help but to chuckle a bit at the other's quick aversion of the payment--as things always were with him. Matt stepped up to pay, handing over a debit card that, obviously, wasn't listed under his name. He took the bag from the pharmacist, sliding it down to the crook of his arm.

"C'mon, let's go get some ice cream and sit down…it's kind of hard to play video games while eating ice cream." He pointed out to Mello, unwilling to admit that he wanted to sit down only because he felt like he'd keel over if he didn't.

"Right," he said loftily, glaring at the other over the tinted shade of his glasses.

Though Mello didn't buy this reasoning, he didn't press it any further, shrugging and giving the other a high and mighty half-nod before pivoting on his heel and stepping outside. Matt seemed hell-bent on getting ice cream for some reason.

Maybe it was because he was boiling in his skin and just really wanted to forget the severity of their situation and have fun like they did back at Wammy's. Or maybe it was because he wanted to see Mello smile, or treat the other to some light-hearted thing that he hadn't indulged in for years. Or maybe he was just really craving ice cream. Soon enough, they came to a quaint sort of ice cream shop on the corner of the street—the kind with the checkered floor and the little silver bell that jangled overhead when you walked in. Matt just about worshipped the cooler air, feeling about as flushed as he looked.

Mello looked around, and, Matt being accurate in his assumption in the fact that he hadn't had ice cream in years, inhaled the smell of the place rather pleasantly. This didn't show, however, as he stalked into a corner of the little store, wondering just how many times the other had been here, if at all. It was a pretty redundant thing to muse about, but then again, what else could he safely wonder without endangering his emotional stability? Okay, he didn't consider his emotional well-being unstable per se, but it was whether he liked it or not.

Matt wandered to the glass display, peering down at the multi-coloured tubs of ice cream.

"What do you want?" he questioned Mello, figuring that the other would most likely go for chocolate.. But there were so many bizarre flavours that he might opt to pick something new. Matt, personally, was finding that the peach-strawberry sorbet was looking rather good.

Mello, however, wasn't here to try anything new. He was safe with chocolate, and so chocolate it would be.

"Nnnn, a chocolate ice cream cone will be fine," he said, as though Matt wasn't expecting this answer. He leaned against the counter with a sigh, but wasn't as exasperated with this whole situation as he would have predicted.

Matt only smiled and shook his head, placing their order and receiving a few moments shy of when he paid. He passed Mello's cone over to him, nodding to a table in the corner of the shop to sit at. Conveniently, it was located by an air conditioning vent. "Best ice cream in town," Matt commented as he licked the sprinkles off his scoop. "Good stuff to be having for the first time in years."

Mello experimentally ran his tongue over the top of his ice cream, following the redhead over to his choice spot. Matt was right; this was pretty good, but as far as the title as the best ice cream in town went, he'd have to see. Then again, he didn't think he'd eaten enough ice cream in his lifetime to be a proper judge.

"I'll admit, it's good," he said, flippantly laving at the scoop that had been stacked on top of the cone, stretched and leaning against the back of his chair.

Matt plopped the bag from the pharmacy on the table top, licking all the sprinkles from his ice cream cone before proceeding to devour it. It was really fucking good, not to mention, it vaguely cooled him off. That, and the vent. He could just stay there all day if it weren't for the promise of arcade games waiting for them. "Good," he answered matter-of-factly. "It's about time you lived, Mello." He secretively plotted out the rest of the day in his head: arcade games, clubs, getting completely smashed and being an idiot...well, maybe not all in the same day.

"If this is what you constitute as living, I'd hate to have seen what you did before I came," he replied unconcernedly, being rather slow and languid in his manner of eating the ice cream, unlike he was with most things. "Besides playing video games, smoking cigarettes, and getting laid of course." From what he had heard, that was all Matt had done. Mello considered it, if nothing else, a wasteful way to live, but there was no point in bringing this up, since the gamer obviously didn't care.

Admittedly, that was a good summary of what he'd done with his life before Mello, next to hacking into different governments worldwide for fun, inventing new ways to keep himself from being tracked, siphoning money out of European stock brokers...

Matt did not live a very fulfilling life before Mello. "Come on, Mel'," he tried anyway, leaning back in his chair and brushing his red bangs from his face. "It's fun. You're going to have fun today. Shouldn't you be excited?" Not that he really expected Mello to be excited about anything.

Mello smirked.

"Don't get me wrong, Matt," he said, tracing intangible images onto the surface of the sweet before looking at the other through half-lidded eyes. "I'm ecstatic."

He cocked an eyebrow then, examining Matt curiously. "Shouldn't we treat your wound before we do anything else?"

Matt grimaced at the mention of it, shaking his head almost immediately. "I'm fine," he told Mello. Aside from being exceedingly hot, this ice cream was working wonders for him. "We can do it at home." And besides, would-treating was so…tedious, and a mood killer. As long as Mello was 'ecstatic', Matt wanted to keep it that way.

"Alright," said the blonde skeptically, now down to the tail end of his cone, rather put out that it was gone so fast. Then again, he still did have that chocolate he brought with him. "But don't pass out on me." What killed him the most, however, was the way Matt had referred to the apartment as 'home'. To that, he gave a half-amused smile, and then let it vanish as he downed the last of his chocolate-flavoured sweet.

Matt had been living in the apartment for a couple years—longer than he stayed put most other times, so it was as good as home to him. Hell, he'd had a candle light dinner in it; he would have to say a place had to be pretty homely for you to do that.

"I'll try not to," he answered, although he did feel like prolonging the act of getting up some more. He was through with his ice cream, but he was still feeling too lazy to do anything. Though, they ought to get going.

Oblivious to the fact that Matt was lazy and wanting to sit a little longer, Mello stood, never one to linger in one place once that place had lost its initial purpose. Still, though, he didn't plan to force the other to go anywhere too quickly, in case a simple movement or shift in environment would trigger the infection. Again, the elder wondered why he was so worried, since Matt didn't seem too bothered.

Then again, unless he was on his knees and begging for his life, Matt didn't seem to be too bothered by anything...other than Mello. But that was an entirely different story. He got up and followed after Mello, somehow resisting the sudden shift of balances that made him want to fall on his face. Blinking slowly, he picked up the bag again and headed reluctantly for the door, not looking forward to the outdoor heat again.

"So... We'll hit the arcade…and then…huh. What do you want to do today?"

"I have no idea," said Mello smoothly. "I was just going along with whatever you wanted. Hell, I'd be content just going back to the apartment." Something about going out and 'having fun' laid on a sense of foreboding that was worse than if he would have just hung around the room. It was as though they were fulfilling their last living days, even though he was adamant that none of them were going to die, and everything was going to go well.

Matt should have expected as much. "Well, we can if you want." He offered, figuring that arcade gaming could always be saved for tomorrow. After all, they would still be needing things to do. After all, Matt wasn't going to let Mello go back to being his boring old 'do work to the degree that I'm going to work myself to death' sort of self. Although, now that it was brought up, the prospect of going back to the apartment sounded vaguely comforting. For the sake of it, he threw his arm around Mello, resting his arm forehead against the other's shoulder with a contented smile. "We can have fun at home, right?"

Oddly enough, Mello didn't bother doing anything about the sudden contact. He was used to it now, he supposed, and it wasn't all that annoying anymore. On the contrary.

"Is having fun all you care about?" he asked, shaking his head with the ghost of a smirk. Since just this morning, all Matt had been talking about was having fun. It wasn't as though there was a dearth of fun or interest in the redhead's life.

"Pretty much," he answered Mello, steering him in the direction of the apartment again. The more he thought about it, the greater curling up in bed with the fan on high sounded. "Having fun, getting laid, and making sure you don't get yourself killed..." He glanced deviously to the other. "Or burnt to a crisp."

"Too late for that," Mello retorted, exhaling heavily, quite relaxed for someone who had just endured a trip to the pharmacy and a rather pointless one to an ice cream parlour, though the latter was more or less enjoyable.

"Hah, I guess so. At least you're not dead," the red-head pointed out, grinning wryly. Indeed, Mello had been burnt to a crisp, but no, he was not dead.

In due time, they made it to the apartment, Matt fumbling a bit with the key when he let them in. He tossed the pharmacy bag onto the couch, letting to of Mello and shrugging off his vest.

"That," he stated, nodding to the discarded bag, "can wait for tomorrow. I'm gonna go take a nap, I'm not feeling so hot." Well, figuratively. Literally he was burning despite the inside temperature.

Mello broke away from Matt and turned to the couch, leaning back on it and resolving to unwrap one of the chocolate bars he hadn't touched yet. Then, he stared at the bag, up at Matt's retreating figure, and blinked.

"You're going to keep putting it off?" he inquired.

"Yeah," the younger one answered, looking back at Mello as though he were crazy. Of course he was going to keep putting it off-- he was a lot like a little kid. He didn't want to deal with his injuries because they were nasty and there were much better things to be doing. Although, out of curiosity, he'd take his temperature. He'd always liked doing that for some reason...maybe it was the beeping.

"Fine," said the blonde, not willing to push the matter further. Hell, if Matt wanted to kill himself, he could go ahead and do it. It was as though he didn't think the cigarettes were killing him fast enough; then again, it was Mello who had shot Matt in the first place. Not that he was going to continue to take the blame, not after he had finally thought himself vindicated. He considered his constant worry a sufficient redemption.

After a moment's worth of videogame-reminiscent beeping from the thermometer, Matt poked his head out the bedroom door again, looking somewhat irritated.

"Does Tylenol reduce fever?" he questioned Mello, as though the other was an expert on the matter or something. Or, he could check the medication in the bag next to him, but still.

"Hell if I know," Mello shot back dryly, chewing on his chocolate as though wanting to discern its flavour.

Matt shrugged, crossing the room to shake out a couple of the pills and thusly swallow them dry. Instead of heading back to the bedroom, though, he opted to sit on the couch with his friend and watch the other eat his chocolate for a little while. Soon enough, though, he found himself dozing off on Mello's shoulder.

Mello grunted, but didn't bother moving Matt. He didn't mind the other leaning on him for itself, but it made him feel...how should he put it?...less badass allowing the redhead to cling to him like he did. It made him feel even less badass with the knowledge that he liked it; he found it strangely endearing.

But he would take that to his grave.

Maybe it was just that Mello, in the presence of Matt, simply wasn't badass. Or wasn't as badass as he ordinarily was or could have been because Matt was Mello's friend. Obviously, friends were not badass.

After a while, despite Matt's body's heated temperature, the redhead shivered against Mello and attempted to burrow his nose into the other's shoulder, shifting slightly on the couch as he did so.

"Hey, hey," Mello murmured, propping the other up slightly. The other must have had a fever, because he was burning up. He didn't know how to help this, but, deciding that since any badassery that the blonde was trying to retain was gone, and he at least had to pretend that his companion mattered more than himself. He draped an arm around Matt, unsettlingly getting used to the unique feeling of initiating something like it, even if it was for Matt's benefit.

Matt opened an eye, muttering something as he looked over at Mello. Only then did he realize that he was encased quite comfortably in Mello's arms. This was an unexpected but certainly welcome turn of events... Matt was quickly deterred from his thoughts by another shiver that resonated from his core and spread through his limbs, though, forcing him to disagreeably grit his teeth in an effort to stop.

Mello noticed the sudden movement and scowled.

"Now can we treat your bullet wound?" he demanded, finding Matt's delay ridiculous. This certainly wasn't doing anything for his fever, and was probably only worsening his infection. This time, though, if the younger one refused, Mello would treat it anyway, whether he liked it or not.

"Yeah," Matt relented finally, grimacing at the thought of it. "Let's head to the bedroom." He suggested, not wanting to run the chance of falling asleep on the none-too-comfortable couch.

"Right, fine." Mello detached himself from the other and went to retrieve the infection medicine, which was assumedly in the bedroom. Once there, he took it out and examined the label, all the while waiting for Matt, who meandered in afterwards, ridding himself of his shirt with some manner of difficulty, but great relief. He almost wanted to lose his pants, too, but then decided that it would be unnecessary. He sat on the edge of the bed, picking at the bandages a bit in complete and utter reluctance.

Mello set the bottle down and unwrapped the bandages harshly, he the exact opposite of reluctance. He was actually really irritated, since Matt had waited so long, letting the infection set in. Once the wound was revealed, he shook the contents of the medicine onto a cotton swab he had gotten from the bag he had gotten originally, and dabbed the injury, unsure of exactly how to apply the disinfectant. His method, however, seemed effective.

Matt, however, would beg to differ: Mello's method really hurt. He felt free to express this thought, too, seeing as he hissed every time Mello touched his open wound and whined at every other interval.

"Fuck, Mello, that hurts," he stated with a wince, wrinkling his nose distastefully.

"Shut up, you dumbfuck," Mello sighed, rolling his eyes and continuing his task mercilessly until he thought that his treatment was sufficient. He drew away and wrapped the same bandage around the wound, partially unsure if it was sanitary. Well, he hadn't used it too long, and he hadn't wrapped the same side of the bandage around the wound, so figured it would last at least a little while.

Matt seemed contented with it, too, though mostly he could hardly sit still. He was exhausted, but didn't feel like he could fall asleep again. And besides, he felt completely and utterly nauseous. He was up and to the bathroom before he barely managed to utter a thanks to Mello, and he was throwing up his ice cream and what other contents of his stomach he had before he had a chance to close the door.

Mello wrinkled his nose as he listened to the sound of Matt's retching, and soon he stood up and walked over to the door, tapping on it a few times.

"Are you okay?" he asked, though the answer to this was obvious: Matt wasn't okay, though the least the blonde could do was ask before bringing his left over chocolate to his lips. Nothing ruined his appetite for chocolate.

"Perfect," Matt answered banally, groaning and spitting in the toilet before flushing it, proceeding to lean back against the opposite wall. He really felt like shit now. Maybe he really should have let Mello treat the infection first thing—or maybe they should have been smarter and stitched it up.

"Nnnn, can I come in?" Mello asked after a moment, though he doubted that coming in would solve anything. Just hanging around and doing nothing about it, however, certainly wouldn't help. After a brief deliberation, though, Mello just barged in, mouth a grim gash as he watched the redhead slumped against the wall.

"Haha, man, I feel great..." Matt mused to Mello, smiling bemusedly in his sarcasm when the other entered the room.

Mello rolled his eyes and stomped in further, folding his arms as though he wasn't sure exactly what to do with the crumpled outline of his companion. He eventually let it go, mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "oh, shut up" and exited, looking over his shoulder one last time.

"If you need anything..." He somehow didn't know how to phrase this. "...just ask."

Matt blinked at the other for a second before smiling half-way and nodding.

"Yeah, sure," he stated, managing to watch Mello go for a moment before leaning forward and, once more, heaving quite unceremoniously into the porcelain bowl. Oh yeah. He felt really great.

Mildly disgusted, Mello returned to the living room, pacing awhile nervously before sitting on the couch and pulling a laptop on his lap for the first time in a few days. He browsed it disinterestedly before pushing it away to sit and wait; maybe if he was lucky, time would pass quickly and he would fall asleep.

--

Matt finally dragged himself out of the bathroom after rinsing out his mouth and washing his face. He didn't bother with a shirt-- he was still running a fever, but he didn't mind. He wandered out to the living room, leaning over Mello's shoulder for a second before speaking. "Are you still trying to do something useful?"

"Yeah, I am," Mello responded almost immediately, shifting and finally pushing the laptop off of him and rolling his eyes. Now assured that Matt simply wasn't going to keel over on him, he stood up and moseyed into the kitchen, just to go somewhere…do something. He contemplated sitting on the counter again, like he had done not long ago, but contented himself instead by merely opening the refrigerator and standing there, glaring inside of it, not really looking at anything in particular.

Matt decided to occupy the couch, feeling completely drained now that he'd thrown up anything that was in his stomach, which wasn't much to begin with. He was worried that food would make it worse, though, so he opted to just sit there while Mello played a staring contest with the fridge. After a moment of silence, though, Matt couldn't help but to pipe up, albeit sleepily:

"Do you want to go to the arcade tomorrow...?"

Closing the refrigerator and wheeling around, eyes closed exasperatedly, Mello returned to the living room.

"Are you a complete moron?" he demanded. "Do you think you're in any shape to go to an arcade?" It was true, though it was also true that Matt was in no shape to hoof it to Japan and participate in a kidnapping. Though that wasn't nearly as important, it seemed.

"The day after that then?" Maybe he'd be better by then. The day after that happened to be Friday, too, their last day before going to Japan. They might as well do something fun, right? Even if Matt was feeling peaky? He eyed Mello hopefully as though staring the other down would increase their chances of going to the arcade.

"Maybe if you're better, dumbass," frowned Mello, not disconcerted in the least by Matt's staring, nor should he have been. He didn't actually intend to go to an arcade.

"Besides, you can play stupid video games here. Why do you have to walk somewhere to do something you can do without lifting a finger?" Despite his simplicities, Matt really was a conundrum. In comparison to Mello, that was.

"It's more fun to play in an arcade," Matt answered matter-of-factly, as though this were the most obvious answer in the world. For a gamer, the noises of fellow gamers wasting their money and shooting their hearts out in a dingy, barely-lit, crowded hall packed full of old school games was like heaven. Plus, he could smoke. He seemed to be satisfied with Mello's answer, though--probably because he didn't know that the other didn't intend to go at all.

"I don't know how you were third in line," Mello muttered, shaking his head. It was a good thing the other never was chosen to be L, because if he had, not only would he have not cared about anything, but Mello would have had to stand the shame of being shown up by someone like Matt...

The blonde sat down against the wall, stretching one leg out and pulling the other against his abdomen, though didn't plan to stay in that position for long unless somehow occupied.

"Why don't you just go to sleep?" the elder asked, cocking his head and feeling all of his hair spill over his face and onto his shoulder.

Mello was feeling sort of restless himself, though not for the same reasons. And he wasn't tired. This was a dangerous situation, considering if Matt wasn't well enough to sleep with him, he probably wouldn't go to sleep. Strange to admit, even to himself, but he figured it was true. The redhead calmed the savage beast, as it were.

"I can't," Matt assented, grimacing slightly at the notion. He really, really wanted to--but he couldn't. "It's too fucking hot." He turned over onto his stomach as he said this, shifting over on the couch to find a new, cooler spot that appeased him and his skin for a moment before succumbing to the heat of his body. Damn. "Why don't you?" he questioned back as though this were a duel, lifting his gaze to Mello. It lingered for a second before breaking when he turned off and rolled over again.

The blonde considered going to the freezer to get some ice, but as far as he could remember, they didn't have any ice. Maybe he could just stuff Matt in the refrigerator for awhile, and then see what happened. The thought brought a scathing smile to his lips.

"I can't," Mello said, mimicking Matt's way of saying it.

Matt looked over at the other, challengingly glaring at him for a moment before deciding that he didn't want to indulge in the game quite yet. "Fine," he stated, sitting up fully at last. "I'll go to sleep if you go to sleep," he wagered, standing up with some manner of difficulty before somehow retaining his balance, however drugged up and feverish and slightly nauseous he still was.

With an exasperated sigh, a grudging acceptance, but no movement, Mello assented.

"Right," he said, figuring that if he told Matt what he wanted to hear, the other would eventually go to sleep. Maybe it wasn't completely clear to him that he had a dangerous infection and that rest would be the best thing, whether the elder one as well or stayed up all night. That really was no concern of Matt's.

Matt, upon seeing that Mello was making no move to follow him, scowled and held his hand out for the other to take. If he didn't, Matt would very well grab him and force him off the couch and tuck him in if he had to. And don't doubt that he would.

"Come on," he goaded, clearly not leaving unless Mello was coming to bed with him.

Mello stood, glaring fiercely. He was clearly displeased, yet he knew that the other wouldn't go without him, and that would only be doing him a disservice. Folding his arms, the blonde went into the bedroom, unabashed at whether or not Matt followed. He sat on his usual side of the bed, staring at the opposite wall interestedly.

Matt ambled off into the bedroom as well and wasted no time in crawling into the bed and laying flat on his back, the covers kicked down to his knees, one hand tucked behind his head, the other—his left—resting languidly on his bared stomach.

"Go to sleep, Mello," he told the other, hoping that the blonde had some sense and would get some rest.

"You can't tell me what to do," mumbled Mello, but eventually slid onto the bed and fell asleep, much to his unconscious surprise. He hadn't been tired at all, but somehow he couldn't resist. His position changed from sprawled out to curled up after a moment's wait, and soon he was turning and shifting as he always did.

A knowing sort of smirk passed over Matt's features. "I told you so," he murmured past it, clearly amused by Mello and his antics. Soon enough, though, the restlessness in his limbs faded, chased away by the escalating heat in his veins. Despite the discomfort, though, Matt fell to rest, sleep taking over his senses and, at least for a few hours, relieving him of his uncomfortable disposition.

--

Unlike how he normally acted, Mello didn't wake up during the night. Though where Mello didn't wake, Matt did. Periodically, he'd be roused for absolutely no reason and become painfully aware of his disagreeable infection. In due time, though, he'd coax himself back to sleep, beginning a cycle that continued until morning. When the sun did come streaming through the slats of the window shade, however, Matt groaned and rolled over, nearly planting his face into Mello's shoulder due to the fact that he had kindly overlooked their distance apart.

Mello blinked and grimaced upon wakefulness, heaving himself off the bed and away from the offending nearness. He stood up, staring blearily down at Matt, who looked a little worse for wear. If the blonde had any sense of decency, he would have been conflicted on whose fault exactly that was. Having a lack of such, however, he decided that it was the gamer's damn fault for getting an infection in the first place. To hell with the fact that he had not only shot him, but had failed to properly prevent infection.

Matt was slightly disturbed by the fact that Mello had gone away from the bed--that, or just a little confused. Admittedly, he was still plagued by the dregs of an unrestful sleep, his mind wanting to hold onto unconsciousness and invite the bliss of not knowing heat and pain like none other. He did have to say, though, that while his skin burned, he felt like he had ice water sloshing around his body. He also felt like a loose sack of organs--he felt like shit. Mostly because his body was confused, trying to heat itself and cool itself off all at once. "We're not going to the arcade today... are we?"

"I'm glad you suddenly decided to develop a brain," muttered a perturbed Mello, who was now surveying the redhead with a blatant look of contempt.

There were a couple of problems with his state: one, he would be next to useless in the kidnapping attempt, and two, he could die. Both were two bad things, considering it would throw things off. Mello had at last crawled back into his selfish morale.

Matt reluctantly sat up, determined to be of some use-- but upon doing so, he realized that his side of the bed was damp with sweat. Making a slight face, he scooted over to the side and leaned back against the wall behind his bed.

"Fuck, Mello, what the hell are we going to do?"

He had two days to get over this infection. Two days, or he wouldn't be of any use to Mello. Well damn.

Mello frowned. He supposed they could wait it out, doing the best they could to treat it before giving up and seeing how things went. That was the best plan he had so far, since hospitalizing him was out of the question and there really was nothing else that could keep them on track. There was no way he was rescheduling his trip or leaving Matt behind. The younger one probably wouldn't appreciate that anyway.

"Wait it out and keep treating it," he said resignedly, when he wasn't able to think of anything better.

Matt breathed a slow exhale that was secretly a cleverly disguised sigh of relief. Well, maybe not so cleverly. He had been thinking that Mello might leave without him and attempt this suicide mission alone, but he was saved that.

"Mmkay. What if...you know…" He alluded to the chance that he didn't get well in time.

Though it was known that Matt would be none too happy about being left behind, there was no way Mello would take him if he was nothing but a hindrance. Besides, the sick shouldn't travel; that was a bluntly decided fact.

"Then I'm going alone," he said determinedly, bearing a face and posture akin to one a hero in a Disney movie would make. It would have been comical. Hell, it _was_ comical.

In fact, Matt might have been pissed if Mello hadn't decided to go all super-hero-manly on him. He cracked up laughing then and there, not even saving Mello some shame and burying his face in a pillow. Instead, he just laughed openly as he could at Mello until he managed to settle down a moment later. With a renewed seriousness--but mirth still in his tone--he said:

"No, you're not. If you go alone I'm getting on the next flight to Japan and beating you there."

"That's what I thought," sighed Mello, but he was still shooting Matt a positively venomous glare that was disagreeable with this spontaneous laughter. What made it worse was that he had no idea where this laughter was coming from. Somehow, he didn't feel as though he wanted to know.

"But you can kill yourself all you want. If you go, I can at least leave without you so I know it's not my fault you went out and fucked yourself over."

"Actually, it kind of is." Matt pointed out, arching a brow questioningly at the elder as though challenging his word. He kind of was. It was true enough that Mello wouldn't be the one dragging Matt onto a plane and carting him to Japan, but it was Mello who'd shot Matt to begin with, but the gamer didn't think that he needed to point that out.

Relaxing now that he knew either way, he was going to Japan and hopefully keeping Mello from getting himself killed, Matt closed his eyes, rolling onto his back and throwing the covers off himself brashly.

"Fuck, Mello, do we have any ice? Or something?" he questioned, scooting around to find a cooler spot on the bed.

"No ice," said Mello gruffly, choosing to ignore the initial accusation of the fault, and instead treating it with a dirty look. "There's probably something in the freezer, though."

Deciding that he might as well go look himself before he was either asked or the other got up and looked himself, the leather-clad male retreated into the kitchen and opened the freezer, which was, miraculously, empty. He scowled and opened the refrigerator afterward, taking out one of the cokes that had been bought not long ago and tossed it to Matt. It was aluminum, and it was cold. That was sufficient enough.

The soda can was quickly accepted gratefully. Matt sighed in relief and practically worshipped it; he had a conflict of interests, though—opening the can and downing it or putting it against his skin. He decided to drink it later and balance it on his forehead now.

"Thanks," he told Mello, continuing to ignore all dirty looks thrown at him and any comments he'd made to earn them.

"Yeah, sure," said Mello. Finding nothing to do elsewhere, the blonde sat on the edge of the bed and watched Matt, unsure of what he was going to do today if the other was out of commission. Then again, he had the liberty to go wherever he wanted without Matt breathing down his neck like an overprotective mother. That, however, seemed suddenly unappealing. Maybe he'd have to double check the preparations to pass the time.

Matt looked at the other, and as though he was evaluating him carefully through the eyes and poring through his mind like the pages of a book, frowned.

"Quit trying to work yourself to death, come on. You weren't thinking of doing anything today anyways," he requested of the other, looking at his blonde companion with genuine concern beyond his soda can balancing act.

"Going to an arcade is at least doing something," Mello replied lazily. "Now what am I supposed to do? Sit here until we leave?"

Perhaps not the best suggestion; Matt probably wouldn't mind all too much if Mello stayed. Still, that wouldn't satiate him for too long. He would need to go out and get something done instead of passively letting it all happen.

"Yeah, that's a good plan," Matt answered somewhat pleasantly, smiling cheekily because he knew that sitting still wouldn't appease Mello for long. Matt knew that he wouldn't be able to get out of the bed if the Playboy mansion was right next door, though. It looked like he had a nap to look forward to later on. "Really, what are you going to do then?"

Though Mello hated to admit that he had nothing to do, he had no made up chore to tell Matt about or delude himself with. So, leaning back onto one palm while examining his other hand, he frowned.

"I'm not sure," he murmured. "Maybe later I'll go take a walk, and then make sure everything's in order for the trip."

Matt watched Mello for a bit, shifting the soda can around on his forehead before rolling to the side uncomfortably. _Holy shit, I'm fucking roasting on a spitfire,_ he grimaced to himself, placing the rounded side of the coke against his neck. "A walk?" he repeated, not knowing that Mello was the type for such placid activities.

"That's what I said, wasn't it?" he demanded, patience lost because of his lack of things to occupy him later. A walk seemed like the most effective thing to do, especially in light of some of the things he was thinking of doing to pass the time. Double-checking their prerequisites seemed redundant. Researching would lead him nowhere. Maybe on his way he'd stop to get some ice...it seemed appropriate.

The other leaving wasn't exactly something that Matt was looking forward to, but he decided that he'd let the other go fume or do whatever it was that he wanted to do.

"Sorry, just didn't know you were into…walking. Seems a little too pointless for you," he commented, having always known Mello as someone with a goal, and walks were like a miniature version of a goal-less life.

Mello sighed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. Then, finding it awfully boring and futile, he glanced at the bedside clock. It, at least, had some purpose; he could watch the time. Maybe for a little while, maybe forever...it depended on his mood.

"Not if I make a point in it," he said dully. "I could go get you some ice, or maybe go somewhere for groceries."

This was true. Matt would appreciate some ice. Hell, he'd climb in a bathtub full of it, but he didn't think that an ice bath was exactly something you were supposed to do with a fever running, it flipped out your body or some shit like that.

"Touché," he told Mello, half-smiling a bit. "Or...I donno. Ice cream. I feel like someone stuck me in a fire." Matt grumbled disapprovingly, like his body was doing this all on its own with no cause.

The blonde eyed him, and then exhaled miserably.

"Fine," he said, discarding any witty remarks he may have had to combat that request. Matt at least deserved a straight response, even if it was a short and impatient one. Mello stood, figuring there was no time like the present.

Matt wanted to protest the other's leaving, but he did agree to getting something that might promise relief from this fever, so he assented to letting Mello go.

"Thanks," he only said, rolling the can down his chest a bit, being wary of the wound bandaged just over his heart. Fuck man, if he lived to see his upcoming twentieth birthday, he wouldn't ever think of doing any girl he wasn't acquainted with ever again.

"Right."

And Mello was gone. He took what little money that was abandoned on the counter and marched outside, inhaling slowly as he began his stroll outside. It was nice, because not only did it have a purpose, but it kept him busy. His ideal activity. Not only that, but he may be able to catalyze Matt's recovery, which was a plus any day considering what they needed to do.

Matt, after a while, realized that his coke can was no longer cold. Groaning, he proceeded to drag his ass out of bed and head to the kitchen, clutching the wall and couch as he went to keep himself steady. Once there, he got another coke and opened this one to take some Tylenol, downing the pills quickly before plopping down onto the tile floor to have his soda in peace. That was, without his head spinning. He just hoped Mello would come back soon so that he could have some company.

--

Mello was gone for an hour, no more, no less. He picked up ice, a gallon of ice cream, and some more chocolate, and returned to the apartment in a neutral mood.

Mello craned his neck to find Matt.

"I'm back," he said dryly, picking out some chocolate and delving into it hungrily. He picked up the bag of ice and stomped toward the kitchen, preparing to throw it into the freezer for awhile.

Matt had been half-asleep against the cabinet doors when Mello came back, rousing too late to answer Mello with a bemused 'in here' like he wanted to. The kitchen wasn't exactly the first place you'd look for him. Understandably, though, the tile floor was consistently cold.

"Have fun?" he questioned, feeling bright enough to stay awake, but not enough to get off the floor. Or maybe he was just pleased to see Mello?

Mello looked from the freezer door to the spot where Matt lay, and, feeling merciful, dropped the bag on the floor next to him. He then proceeded to stow the ice cream where he had been headed originally, and then joined his companion on the floor.

"I did," he confirmed tonelessly, chewing on his bar.

Upon confirming that the clunk of the bag was, indeed, ice, Matt sat up properly and untied it, proceeding to drop an ice cube into his mouth before running one down from his shoulders to his wrists. Damn, that was better than sex. Well, not really. But it was definitely great.

"Jeeze, Mello, you have so much chocolate you're gonna need a separate suitcase for it," he pointed out, seeing as Mello had bought out the last store they went to.

"Actually, I plan to have a separate suitcase for it," said Mello, a smirk playing at his lips, but he was deadly serious. Well, if carry-on bags counted as suitcases. He didn't plan to get on a several hour long flight without his anti-drug, or there would be hell to pay. Mostly for Matt, who would have to endure this dearth.

Matt smirked a little, giving the other a sort of 'I knew it' look before proceeding to swallow his already melted ice cube and pop another into his mouth. Hell, this was better than smoking. He hadn't had one in a while, but he didn't think that he could drag himself outside to have one, and Mello had been too nice to him to piss off.

"Right, of course. I'd have to be stupid to think that you'd go on an overseas flight without your chocolate. That, or suicidal."

Mello cast him a scathing look.

"Right," he said, crossing his arms in front of him and lifting his head off of the fridge. "You're so clever." He absently nibbled on the end of his chocolate, suddenly not all too pleased with it. He wasn't tired, yet all he wanted to do was curl up and go back to sleep, whether that sleep struck him or not.

A wan smile crossed his lips before he snorted at Mello's evident sarcasm.

"You don't look too happy," he pointed out, arching a brow at Mello. He was finally cooling down—maybe if they kept a cooler of ice cubes around they'd make it to Japan without his spontaneously combusting.

"Another brilliant deduction," he said condescendingly, shifting in his spot.

It wasn't as though Mello meant to wake up and act like an asshole. It just happened

Matt, though, was used to Mello's attitude and would tolerate it until Mello started picking on him more than he was right then.

"What's wrong?" he pushed, knowing that there were a great many things that could be wrong, but... Mello was obviously upset about something, and Matt wanted to know what it was. He probably couldn't do anything about it, but it would comfort him to know.

"Nothing," Mello said curtly, and left it at that. If Matt wanted to pry, he'd have to try a hell of a lot harder, and even then...well, then Mello would probably just get up and leave.

Matt had known Mello long enough to know when he was being deliberately difficult, and now was one of those times. He looked at Mello long enough to decide that he was going to attempt to get Mello to say even a little something on the matter.

"What? C'mon, won't you let someone give a damn about you?"

"And what will it matter?" Mello snapped. "Once you know what's bothering me, what the hell will you do with that information?"

The blonde positively snarled, releasing his anger and melodrama in that sentence. It had seemed to escalate in but a few minutes, but it was that much sooner that he had cooled down, averting his gaze to avoid starting some kind of fight.

"I don't know," Matt answered honestly, swallowing another tiny remnant of ice cube before looking over to Mello, completely unfazed by his outburst. "Misery loves company."

He watched Mello for a second longer than he ordinarily would have—suddenly reminded of their kiss(es) two nights ago for no particular reason. It seemed foreign to him that Mello could snog him that hard and then drop him in an instant. "Really, Mel'. What's on your mind?"

Mello breathed deeply, but didn't let the breath escape. He instead held onto it protectively, before letting it ghost over the next bit of chocolate that he was bringing to his lips.

"We're going to Japan," he said hollowly. "This trip could make or break me...we could die, or come back with the closest link to Kira besides Kira himself." And despite all of the speeches he had made that denied that they would die, the blonde couldn't help but think that they would fail. It was this conflict that made him so worried. He didn't know what to believe.

Matt, despite his better judgment, abandoned the bag of ice that was gifting him with release from the near unbearable heat and made his way across the tiles to Mello. He just wanted to be closer to the other was all. He wanted to sit like they did at Wammy's on his bed when Mello would tell him how badly he wanted to beat Near and how sometimes, he'd confess, he wasn't sure if he could do it. He wanted to reassure Mello like he always had—just like he always had.

"Don't worry. Worrying just makes trouble you don't need." Those were recited words, but they meant something to him. "It'll turn out however it's supposed to."

"I don't think we're supposed to die," Mello said unconcernedly, as though the prospect of death was just another thing to talk about, another ideal that you brought up in the most casual of conversations.

"Then I think we won't die," Matt answered quietly, confirming with that statement that he had long since placed his complete trust in Mello despite any doubtful comments.

_"I think I'm supposed to beat Near."_

_"Then I think you will."_

Matt settled down next to Mello, relishing in the coolness that was still on his skin. He turned to look at his friend, sighing a little. "Seriously. Try not to worry so much. We'll be fine."

Mello hesitated, not always sure what to say to this, though he knew he had heard the same speech a thousand times. He sighed, drawing the chocolate to his mouth just to buy himself a little more time. Finally, though, the thinnest of knowing smiles crossed his face, so slight that it was barely there.

"I believe you."


	15. Chapter 15

**jugo.**

Mello had chosen to sleep on the couch that night.

It was a nervous thing, since sleeping with Matt would have made him antsy and would have gotten him thinking about things he shouldn't. So, at the moment when the sun began to spread evenly over the still-stained carpet, the blonde returned almost immediately to consciousness, mumbling something that even he himself didn't recognize.

Boot-clad feet padded roughly across the living room, a dawning apprehension flitting over his dulled mind as he realized: today was the day when they headed out to Japan. A frown twisted across his face.

By the time Mello was prowling around, Matt was still sleeping. In fact, he was sleeping quite like a hibernating animal-- the fact that he was half hanging off the bed didn't even seem to perturb him half as much as the prospect of heading out to Japan was bothering Mello.

While the other looked as though he was enjoying his sleep, despite the fact that it had just come, and that he was half on the bed, Mello strode up quite calmly and prodded him sharply. Matt, after all, was the one who knew when they were heading out, and had all of the information. Then again, he could always take everything and leave without him...not that he had originally planned anything like that. It was just, well, he could probably hire anyone he wanted to do exactly what he had in mind for Matt and not care if that person in question died.

Matt stirred, but only to wave his hand to ward off Mello when the other came up and poked him. He mumbled something unintelligible and opened his eyes, squinting at what little light streamed through his window blinds. Oh. Oh yeah. Today was Japan day. He rolled all the way out of the bed, wincing slightly and getting himself together. He pulled his goggles on and ruffled his red hair from underneath the band. "Time to go?" He blearily questioned, even though he was the one who knew when they were leaving.

"You tell me," said Mello, rather impatient. Though the other had gotten up rather quickly, quick never was quick enough. And so, he stomped away and gathered the things he had packed days beforehand, which was just a bag, not including whatever the redhead planned to bring.

He swallowed at a faster rate now, and was chewing on a bar of chocolate before he even knew he had brought it out.

Matt chuckled at the other's impatience, straightening his clothes and breathing in deeply. He headed out the bedroom door, coming into the living room and shrugging on his vest. His cell phone, wallet, keys, a pack of cigarettes and his personally created handheld were all already stuffed into the pockets. "The plane leaves in an hour," he stated after checking a clock sitting obscurely under a table. It was cutting time a little short, but since what they had could be carried on he didn't think they would have to worry too much. He grabbed a messenger bag containing two laptops and enough electronics to get him set up and started on a neat little operation-- just for comfort's sake. Matt always had to have something somewhat elaborate set up.

Mello, however, was a little more worried about cutting it this close. He rolled his eyes at the things Matt had chosen to pack, but let it go as he stood impatiently at the door.

"Then let's go," he demanded, close to tapping his foot to make a point. He didn't, though, and contented himself with inhaling the first bar of chocolate of many to come on their trip. Not to mention in Japan as well, where he wasn't so sure there would be decent candy.

They seemed to be thinking upon the same lines, because Matt looked at Mello while he devoured the chocolate bar and raised a brow. "Do you like the chocolate in Japan?" He questioned casually as they walked down and out to the lobby. A certain sort of dull pain struck him when they got out to the parking lot and he saw his car-- he realized then that he would have to leave it in the U.S. during their little adventure overseas. Damn.

"I've never been to Japan," said Mello indifferently, now sucking more fervently on his candy, as though afraid it was the last he'd ever eat. Ironic.

Still, as they went on their way, he couldn't help but think that no matter what the Japanese chocolate tasted like, he'd eat it regardless. This was mostly because if he got needy enough, he'd eat anything that remotely tasted like chocolate.

"Really?" He questioned, looking a little more surprised at this. "Man, you'll love it. I'll have to take you back some time when we're not kidnapping the hottest star there." In more than one way, but hell... "Vacation." He chuckled at the thought of taking Mello on anything remotely relaxing and shook his head. "Asian chicks are so hot." He commented off-handedly as he set his laptop in the backseat of the car, pulling out his keys. He, now, figured out that he was adept at handling the car with one hand as he was with two-- and with one hand he could do this awesome twist thing with the wheel... Evidently, Matt wasn't too worried anymore.

"Right, sure," he said, referring to both comments: the one about the vacation and the crack about Takada. Not that Mello really cared about what Matt said about her; it was just obnoxious that he was rambling about hot chicks when they were about to go somewhere and do something of the utmost importance. Not to mention....

He slipped into the passenger's seat, leaning back to let him do and drive however he wished.

Matt shut up and drove after he made the ingenious deduction that Mello did not appreciate his little cracks very much and that he probably was already stressed enough since they were going to Japan to kidnap Takada... so he didn't say anything else and simply let the other be as he drove. After a while, though, Matt couldn't stand the silence. He had often tried to ignore Mello for several days on end, but always, the quiet got to be too much for hi. Now was no different, even if he wasn't angry with the other or anything. "I think you'll like Japanese chocolate too... Ever had pocky? That's Japanese.. and has chocolate.."

"Nope," said Mello smoothly. "I've never had pocky." Not that he ever had time to experiment with new candies. Chocolate bars were one thing, since he could just get it and get out. Trying foreign candies, however, probably took a moment's time out from life to try. The only time he had ever had such time was in Wammy's, and even then he had no taste for anything but straight chocolate, which was predictably good. And so, he was content with his constant supply of milk chocolate and the occasional dark chocolate.

"Huh, really. It's pretty good." For a while when Matt was younger, he liked to have pocky and hold it like a cigarette. Where he got it from, he wasn't sure... It probably was Linda, back at Wammy's now that he thought about it a little. "We'll have to get you some when we're there." He mused as though they were really taking a vacation. Too bad they weren't.

Mello leaned back a little farther, sucking on his bottom lip before languidly deciding to polish off the remainder of his candy. Maybe if they had time he'd get some, just to estrange himself from the kidnapping a little bit, make things seem reasonably normal. Not that he was much too normal to begin with. Well, what was normal in someone else's eyes.

"Maybe," he mused, the last 'e' sound trailing off with the city scenery that was passing too quickly for comfort.

Matt was glad to hear that the other was even possibly up for holding onto some semblance of the norm-- at least, normal for them. Nothing had ever been normal for them, not since the days before Wammy's... For Matt, that had been about eight years, tops. For Mello, well, Matt didn't think he knew. He might've forgotten if Mello had ever even told him... "Good, we'll get some." He stated decisively like Mello had wholly agreed.

He cracked an eye at the other, grinning surreptitiously.

"You're funny, you know that?" the blonde remarked, unsure where this came from. Funny in the obnoxious way, surely, though undoubtedly amusing. Another reason why he kept the other around. Loyalty and entertainment. The list was just growing.

Matt quirked a brow at the other, daring to take his eyes off the roade for just a moment to peer questioningly at Mello from behind his goggles. "Funny?" He repeated incredulously, never having considered himself as such. Witty on a stretch-- more often than not a drunken stretch-- but funny... no. "If you say so," he stated as he felt the corner of his lips rise in something of a half-smile.

Soon, they pulled into the long-term parking lot of the airport, Matt choosing a space as close as possible to keep from having to walk too far, but reasonably tucked away so no one would try to hotwire his fancy sports car and drive it away. Of course, he had better precautions than most people... but he best stick to old school methods too, just in case.

Once the car had been parked and the ignition killed, Mello took no time to hop out of the car, slamming the door behind him with unnecessary force. He retrieved his jacket from the bag, holding off putting it on until later. Still, though, he slung it over his shoulder along with his bag to ensure he could slip it on as soon as they surpassed airport security. Unfortunately, he didn't know which flight they were taking, so he would leave that aspect to Matt.

Matt led them through the airport with startling ease-- there weren't too many people milling out and about, that being, for an airport. It was plenty crowded but they had clearly avoided the rush hour, seeing as they could still see what was going on around them. They were held up a little at the carry on screening-- Matt had forgotten about the metal clasps on his bandages that set off the detectors and had had an interesting time trying to explain why he was still traveling when he ought to, technically, be in a hospital. Nevertheless, by the time they found their gate (D16), Matt was in good spirits.

Not only that, but they had made it with at least fifteen minutes to spare, which in turn made Mello in good spirits. Well, at least as good as Mello could be in, considering that he wasn't exactly a good-natured person. He looked up at the screen. 'To Tokyo' it said, neon letters glittering over the businessmen and vacationers that were sitting in the gate. For all the trouble they had gone through, which was less than anticipated, prospects looked clear.

Despite the daunting future of a kidnapping.

So far, things were looking good; Matt was quite pleased to know that this might just be setting a precedent of things for the future. That was something that they damn well better appreciate if it really was going to end up meaning smooth sailing. "Seems kinda unreal sitting up there like that, huh?" He questioned, following Mello's gaze at the neon, digital letters. They were really going to Tokyo.

"Kinda," said Mello, still staring, mimicking the manner in which Matt had said this word.

Then, he marched forward into the mass that was waiting around, but decided against sitting down, since it seemed like a slowing down if they were going to go fast from here on out. Full speed ahead. He frowned at this phrase in relation to what they were planning on doing, and shook it out of his head.

Matt let the other's gibe go, remembering other times that Mello had poked fun at his lingo or lax sense of speaking. Remembering that these sorts of taunts were just Mello's way eased any annoyance that might have surfaced. Really, though, Matt honestly didn't care.

Soon, the employees started loading first class-- Matt hadn't bothered to sit down because he knew that with fifteen minutes to spare, the plane was going to star boarding any second now. "C'mon," he stated, nudging Mello in the side to catch his attention. "That's us." Matt couldn't help but to at least make the ride comfortable.

At this, Mello was mildly surprised, though he supposed he should have predicted it. He thought, in Matt's laziness, that he would buy whatever tickets were easiest to get a hold of. Then again, the other was none to stingy with his money, it probably not being all his. He was rich, for a gamer that sat on his ass all day with his omnipresent hard-on for technology. "Right," the blonde assented, following along.

First class to Tokyo was easy enough to get a hand on, the trip being expensive to begin with-- short notice and round trip made it sort of hard, but Matt had managed. He hadn't cared too much about the price either, because Mello was right. This money wasn't his-- currently, he and Mello were nonexistent, wealthy, European men.

Matt found their seats towards the rear of the first class cabin, immediately claiming the window seat and tucking his carry on underneath the chair in front of him. He wiggled around in his seat a little bit, clearly enjoying the space. "Nice, huh?"

Mello surveyed the seats for a moment before stowing his bag under the seat in front as well and pulling on his jacket. He sat down as well, reclining before deeming the seats comfortable and then nodding in general agreement.

"Sure," he said, rooting around in his pocket for a pair of sunglasses, which he decided against putting on for now. That could wait until they landed. What wouldn't wait, however, was another chocolate bar.

Decidedly comfortable, Matt crookedly leaned back against the wall of the plane and the side of his seat, nestled quite pleasantly in that corner. Although he had somehow managed to wrestle his seatbelt on, he had one leg propped up against the seat, the toe of his boot resting against his side of the arm rest. "Loosen up, will you? We're just going to Japan, not the end of the world."

"What's the difference?" he said, a twisted smirk spreading over his face. He had a feeling that nervous habit would drive him to somehow eat at least half of the chocolate he had tucked under the seat. This was saying something, since he had stockpiled a hell of a lot of the candy in the past few days.

Stretching again, Mello neglected his seatbelt for the time being.

"You need to get laid," Matt told Mello disapprovingly, shaking his head at the chocolate that he was sure that Mello would desecrate before the plane even lifted. Of course, there was no saying that getting Mello laid would loosen him up any, but hell, it worked for Matt. Maybe Mello would be somewhat less stressed out if he had a sexual outlet too. Matt ought to introduce him to some Japanese chicks. Maybe he'd like that. Probably not.

Mello turned to stare at the other for a moment, expression caught between exasperation and irritation. Leave it to Matt to suggest such a thing.

"You may think that fucking everything with a vagina is relaxing, but not everyone does," he said, examining the controls on the ceiling blankly. An air conditioner, a light, and a call button for the flight attendants. He doubted he'd use any of those during this flight.

Matt shrugged. "Have you ever had a really good orgasm, Mello? 'Cause you sound like you haven't." He chuckled at his own little stab at Mello's sex life-- or rather, lack of one-- and closed his eyes. It just occurred to him that he hadn't taken a pain killer in the morning, and, like an idiot, hadn't thought to pack any. Oh well. He could hold out until they got to Japan; if not, maybe the flight would give him aspirin or something.

Mello, however, was not amused.

"You're a jackass," he said blatantly, finally pulling on his seatbelt and comfortably drowning his anxieties in chocolate--and lots of it. The blonde mentally ticked off all of the things he'd need to do in Japan: find a place to hide out until they got Takada, rent a vehicle or two, and some other things he'd have to rehearse when they arrived across the ocean.

Ah, Matt should have figured that Mello had a stick shoved up his ass. One day, he really would have to show Mello a good time, one way or another. "So are you," he answered deftly, without missing a beat. Soon, an informational video started playing about all the safety regulations of the plane-- no one paid attention to it, particularly in the first class. In due time, the plane taxied down the runway and lifted off, making Matt somewhat queasy. He preferred traveling by car, thanks.

Ignoring the immature comeback, Mello attempted to also ignore the plane's ascent. It wasn't going down the runway that irked him as much as the actual task of getting up into the air. That was where he was uneasy. And yet, he didn't show it in his body language; his face was stoic, determinedly fixed on the seat in front of him while one foot shifted slowly, impatiently.

It was going to be a long trip.

Matt, whom was lacking in the sleep department from the previous night's anxiety, decided that he was going to catch up on the plane. It was odd how he didn't really seem to be perturbed while he was inching slowly to Japan, but more so when he was lying in the comfort of his own bed at home. Perhaps the irony of being so humble was what really threw him off. "You should sleep," he commented to Mello, cracking an eye open at the other momentarily. "You'll worry yourself to death if you don't."

He shot Matt a glance, one that clearly didn't like his worry publicly spoken of, but he eventually decided against saying anything derogatory, and instead gruffly nodded.

"Maybe," Mello murmured. "Soon." Because he knew that he would, if not for the sake of sleeping, then to pass the time. How long would that kill? A few hours? That was the only thing he had, since he had no other form of entertainment with him.

Matt rolled his eyes at the other's dodgy sort of comment. He reached into his pocket and tossed his handheld at Mello. "Here. Start a new game-- save it over mine and I'll kill you. You can make your own file though, so..." Matt trailed off with a shrug-- he knew that Mello wasn't exactly the video gaming type, but playing through Matt's personally designed game had to be better than staring into space, didn't it?

Mello looked at the game for a minute, then at Matt, and then turned it on. No, he wasn't the video gaming type, but hell, why not? He had nothing to lose in playing a game, except maybe his dignity, which wasn't much to begin with. Ignoring the warnings not to turn on electronics until the plane reached the pinnacle of its ascension, he attempted to figure out the game, with a perpetual frown on his face.

Matt chuckled at Mello's difficulty, wondering if he ought to help the other out; he, after all, had created and scripted the game... But he decided against it in the end. He had some sleep to catch up to and they were flying smoothly. Maybe if Mello was still bored after he woke up, he'd give his friend a hand in some urban-ninja, zombie-slaying tactics. Trust Matt to come up with such a strange game.

And unfortunately for Mello, he never got past the first level. Something about pixelized characters trying to slay zombies and jump around erroneous cities. He found it stupid and mind numbing, and yet he couldn't stop playing. This must be why Matt was so enraptured by stupid things

Eventually, though, he fell asleep, game face down on his chest, hands clasped over it.

After an hour or two, Matt woke rather unwillingly from his nap. They had hit some turbulence, but he wasn't sure that was what had woken him up. He was trying not to worry, because, like he told Mello and like his mother had once told him worrying just made trouble you didn't need. Despite that, though... Matt was worrying. He glanced to the blonde sleeping beside him with the video game propped against his chest. He smiled faintly at the slightly out-of-place sight before turning his attention to the window and the white clouds with blue seas passing by beyond it.

Mello stirred and woke about an hour after Matt, sitting up abruptly to knock the game onto his thighs. He clumsily picked it up, staring at it for a moment before remembering why he had it. He looked blearily over at Matt and pulled his hood up, wishing that he could fall back asleep.

After a minute's wait, however, he realized that it wasn't going to happen, and therefore dug out another bar of chocolate.

"Morning, Sunshine." Matt told the other, even though it definitely wasn't morning time anymore and Mello was about the farthest from Sunshine as you could get. That was exactly why Matt was calling the other Sunshine, though, the pure irony was great-- kind of like Mello taking the pink gun in the arcade and forcing him to be Peach in Mario Party... "Sleep well?"

Mello grunted at the naming, but took it with a fair amount of patience. The redhead thought he was so witty, didn't he?

"Considering I'm on my way to Japan with a moron, about to face certain death, my sleep was pretty good," he said, stretching slowly as he broke another piece of his candy off between his teeth and laved at it until it disintegrated under his tongue.

Matt wrinkled his nose a bit at the comment about his being a moron. "I am not," he objected, taking his game back from Mello now that he remembered that the other wasn't sleeping anymore and he could safely take it without the possibility of Mello waking up. He turned it on and resumed his game, talking while he played. Over the years, the red-haired gamer had gotten quite good at the whole talk and play thing. "Oh come on. You said you didn't think we're going to die." Matt pointed out.

"I only said that to make you feel better," said Mello, grinning slyly to where it was impossible to tell if he was serious or not. To be truthful, he went either way; he didn't know what to believe. Sure, he was sure that if he put his mind to it, he could probably kick Near and Kira's ass, but this was real life....just believing that you would come out on top didn't guarantee it to be so.

Matt shot Mello a glare in time to see him make that sly expression. He growled, and would have thrown something at the other if he'd had anything on hand, but currently, all he had were things he didn't want to throw. "They should make smoking sections in planes," he grumbled, now reminded of the packet of cigarettes sitting, crumpled, in his pocket and waiting to be smoked. First thing when he got out of the airport, he swore... "Did you really?" He asked after a while, realizing that he hadn't been able to tell if Mello was kidding or not.

And this was what Mello hated: when Matt insisted on pursuing a topic that was meant to be left alone. His grin turned swiftly into a scowl, and he leaned his cheek against a gloved knuckle disinterestedly.

"Probably," he said, never one to give a straight answer when it was unnecessary.

Matt didn't push after that-- maybe he got the picture that Mello didn't want to talk about it, maybe Mello just pissed him off. It was hard to tell, but either way, he simply went on to play his video game. Quiet zingpowclashclangcrackleboom noises ensued. Of course, Matt, being Matt, couldn't stay shut up for long. "How far did you get?" He questioned Mello, referring to the game even though he didn't give any indication of it

"Pardon?"

Obviously, Mello didn't get the hint, that was, until he looked from the handheld to Matt, and then made the connection. He had the grace to appear unabashed, though he had a vague feeling that they both knew how well he had done on the game. "I didn't even make it past the first fucking level." Losing in any form didn't sit well with the blonde.

Matt grinned. The first level, actually, was the hardest. The second one was a piece of cake-- in fact; you could defeat it in two moves. He didn't have the audacity to say 'I didn't think so', well, not on a plane. If they had been anywhere else… But Matt didn't want to risk the chance of Mello punching him in the face and starting a scene while they were over the Pacific Ocean. "If you get bored later, I'll help you out. The first level's the hardest one until about fifteen."

Being completely oblivious to what Matt could and would have said if the circumstances would have been different, Mello remained placid, nodding to the offer though he wasn't about to take him up on it. In fact, he didn't plan to. Maybe he'd sleep some more, or weather away the time by filling himself up on chocolate and thinking. Yes, thinking was the best way to boredom.

"Sure, Matt," he drawled.

"You're such a hard ass, Mello," he told his companion with a little shake of his head. He knew that Mello probably wouldn't take him up on the offer-- one, it involved video games, and two, it involved Matt's help. Help with the Kira case was one thing, but Matt was pretty sure that help over a little video game was an entirely different matter.

"Thank you," he said, not entirely listening. His eyes were forcibly closed, Mello wanting to fall asleep again. Unfortunately, he had a feeling that he'd never fall asleep at this rate, and would probably sit their absently going through his chocolate until the plane landed and he was lulled out of his stupor by his companion.

Maybe he'd yield to some good conversation; that was rare, however, since most conversations he had with Matt were either awkward or irritating.

Within the next few hours, the gamer had managed to play his way to level twenty-three, the, in his mind, legendary level of the zombie dragon. Dumb, but highly challenging. In fact, most of the levels were that way... Matt saved his game and looked out the window, only to find that the clouds had disappeared and that they were at a low enough altitude that he could see more land than he could see clouds. "Hey Mello, looks like we're gonna land soon," he commented like he would every now and again in an attempt to start civil conversation. Mostly, though, he gave up pretty quickly because Mello was grouchy. Someone was on their period.

Mello hazily looked up and out the window, sitting up as, sure enough, the speaker came on jabbering about the fair weather in Tokyo and how they should be touching down in five minutes. Clearly satisfied, he chewed more slowly on his current chocolate bar, finding that he had cleaned out half of the stash in his carry-on. It seemed as though he would have to at least test the Japanese chocolate, and he silently prayed that it would be decent.

Matt glanced to the other's half-empty carry on after stowing at way his game in his own. He chuckled and shook his head. "Don't worry, Mel', I'm sure the chocolate in Japan will be fine." He teased, knowing full well what the other was thinking. With half his stash gone, there was only one thing. "Besides, I think they have some weird kind of chocolate that's got bubbles in it. Popular stuff as far as I've heard."

Mello couldn't help but to wince.

"Bubbles in it?" he repeated incredulously, pulling his bag onto his lap and staring and Matt as though daring him to be kidding. Somehow, though, he knew he wasn't. "Do you know if they have just the ordinary kind?"

"Air bubbles, not real bubbles," Matt added on, although he was pretty sure that his companion knew what he was talking about and was just as flabbergasted anyways. "Probably. I never really looked around at chocolate or anything," he stated, even though he had. Mostly, he had looked at the chocolate stock in foreign countries for the hell of it; he'd always missed Mello when he was gone and he had strange ways of coping.

"They damn well better have some," said Mello, just as the plane touched down, rattling busily as it sped down the tarmac and eventually slowed to a pleasant drift. He shifted uncomfortably, impatiently in his seat and unclasped his belt just before the attendants instructed them to do so, and then lifted his bag over his shoulder. Once the plane came to a stop, he shot up into a standing position and pushed into the line. There was no way in hell he was going to lag behind a bunch of old people and Japanese businessmen.

Matt was far more languid about getting out of his seat and up into the aisle-- he was, after all, handling two laptops and all their wires, including random other bits and pieces in his bag. That, and he was just plain lazy. "Jeeze, chill." He remarked to Mello as he managed to push out behind him, not wanting to lose the blonde. There was a fifty percent chance that the other wouldn't wait for him, after all.

"No," said Mello, staring out his window now, chocolate bar being held aloft by his front teeth. "I don't."

It seemed as though his light-hearted mood had sort of melted away. Then again, it always did when Matt chose to talk about things that were depressing or evocative. And Mello never put on a depressed facade when he felt that way; he just turned to either anger or indifference. This was the time for the latter

Matt seemed to get pensive while Mello was busy being indifferent-- ordinarily, he, too, would feign the uncaring sort of attitude, but he didn't think that he felt up to at the moment. He genuinely missed the old days, and he genuinely wished that L was alive again. Mainly, he only wanted this because Mello could possibly running headlong into death. He stayed quiet.

And, being the Mello that didn't much partake in conversation, let alone strike it up, he remained silent as well. The blonde finished off the chocolate piece by piece, which was proving to take a little while since the stuff was so waxy and was closer to dark chocolate than milk chocolate. Only he would have paid attention, or even cared, about something like the wax content; he did have a particular way with his candy.

Eventually, the silent taxi cab pulled up to the hotel that they would be calling home for the next however long. Matt got out and looked at it apprehensively as he swung his bag over his shoulder. "Well, this is it." He commented before heading inside to check in. The place was nice enough, not too large, and none too fancy. Their room, be this inconvenient or entertaining, had a window overlooking the busy street outside.

Mello stared at it passively, lugging his bag out of the taxi and following Matt inside, looking around again to watch the Japanese signs and most of all the people, who, though they weren't looking at him, still gave him a bad feeling. Unfortunately, this was the general impression the Japanese made on him, and would last the entire trip. He insisted mentally that it wasn't a racial thing, but he wasn't too sure.

Matt, then, found the elevator with a little trouble. There were two of them tucked in a discreet hallway, so he couldn't be blamed. He and Mello had the fortune of an elevator to themselves, and Matt momentarily entertained the thought of exercising a certain cliché, but the elevator dinged and the doors slid open on the twelfth floor he could decide. Maybe on the way down.

Oblivious to whatever plans Matt may or may not have had, Mello strode onto the floor, but with no hurry. After all, he wasn't the one with the room key, and not only that, but he didn't even know where the room was. So, he allowed Matt to remain in front, carelessly crumpling the chocolate he had gone through and tossing the wrapper in a bin in the hallway. Convenient.

Their room happened to be pretty close to the elevator, which was nice, because Matt was about ready to fall on his face and call it a day. He did, though, manage to unlock the door and walk inside, putting his things down and claiming the single bed by immediately sprawling out on it with a customary, relaxed sigh. "Still giving me the silent treatment?" He coudln't remember if Mello was mad at him, or just being quiet, but other way... it was a silent treatment.

"I would if I had anything to say," replied the other curtly, dropping his things off by the door and immediately rifling through it for a moment before confirming something and marching over to a chair that was snuggly pressed against the opposite wall.

Maybe, if Mello did have something to say, he would have spoken; it wasn't as though he was mad at Matt for any particular reason.

"Whatcha looking for?" He questioned Mello as the other rummaged through his belongings, his head half lifted from the bed. He didn't seem to committed to getting an answer, though, because without much protest, he laid back down and continued to stare at the speckled ceiling. It seemed highly unreal to him that they were in Japan...

"Just checking..." he affirmed. "I want to make sure everything made it here."

If it hadn't, they would have to go through a lot of hell trying to recover what was lost. Buying things in Japan was a lot more dangerous than in America, since Mello knew his ins and outs there far better than he ever could here. Not to mention that he didn't speak the language.

"So now that we're all set, you're going to be emo in a corner?" Matt pointed out as he blinked over at the other apprehensively. "When exactly are we gonna do this, anyway?" He asked, figuring that it would have to be soon, because he didn't really think that Mello wanted to stay in Japan for too long. Really, he wanted to get this over with and go back to America. Sure, Japanese chicks were hot... but anything could be happening to his car.

Mello leaned over the hotel provided desk, which he predicted to house a network cable and a bible. Two of the oddest things you'd find occupying the same place.

"Takada will be at NHN Monday morning," he said loftily. "We're going to move there." And that settled it. The day after tomorrow was when they were going in, and once the elder's mind was made up, there was no changing it. Besides, he had scoped out this particular venue for days.

Matt considered this for a moment, not that there was really anything to consider, but he liked to contemplate the idea of this suicide mission a bit to make him feel like he had given it a little more thought than 'I trust Mello, and therefore I'm just going to go with it.' He tried to stay steadfast to this idea, and for the most part, it worked. His mind was dubious but his being was set in stone. "Well, if this works... Cheers to you, Mel'."

Mello nodded vaguely, so much so that it was barely recognizable as anything more than a small incline of the head.

"Yeah, definitely," he said, eyelids drooping. It wasn't as though he was tired or anything; it was just that he was past the point of worry or anticipation, and all that was left was a monotonous sort of expression that was drained of all discernible emotion.

"Sit with me?" he questioned, noticing that there was an empty space just to the left side of a wrinkle in the blanket beside his hip. Or maybe it was his right. He was a bit directionally challenged. He just didn't feel right, though, with him lying sprawled on an unfamiliar bed with Mello being all melancholy in the corner. He wanted to at least renew some sense of something other than complete and utter misery.

He tried to think of some reason to reject this proposal, but figured he had nothing else to do, and no real reason not to. Besides, the bed was much more comfortable than the chair. That was a given in all hotels, no matter what country you're in.

"Sure," he assented, standing up and sliding onto the opposite side of the bed, drumming his fingers on the bed spread before lying spread-eagle against the headboard.

Matt was thinking. Thinking about what, he wasn't sure. So, reluctantly, he was forced to stay quiet and thusly stare at the ceiling. He wanted to talk about Wammy's, he wanted to talk about their possibly dying, he wanted to talk about Mello and his desire to prove himself number one... he wanted to talk about everything. But he had nothing to talk about, if that made any sense. "Why do you think we kissed?" He questioned suddenly, the query having been on his tongue, but he'd never let it out-- until just then. Whether it was a momentary lapse of mind or a completely intentional thing, he wasn't so sure.

Mello, whose face was incredibly passive and uninterested, suddenly changed when he heard this topic being addressed. He looked over at the other, wondering, though it had always been at the back of both of their minds, why he had brought up such a topic. For a moment, he decided to put a minimal amount of thought into the question, as uncomfortable as the subject was. Soon enough, he shrugged slightly and sighed. "I don't know," he muttered. "Impulse?" It seemed like a reasonable enough explanation to him.

"Longest impulse I ever had," he answered noncommittally, staring off at the ceiling still before he finally closed his eyes in thought. He knew damn well that it hadn't exactly been impulse that had made him kiss Mello, but it was something like it. A sort of overwhelming, somewhat sudden desire, but he could have helped it if he really wanted to. Apparently, though, he hadn't really wanted to. A devilish smile grew on his lips. "Did you like it?" His question was serious... but it was hard to keep a straight face.

Now Mello was staring at the other, one eyebrow raised artfully at the offending grin. The answer here, he would assume, was obvious, though he was sure Matt would have asked whether he knew or not. "If I hated it, I wouldn't have continued," he said, closing his eyes determinedly and folding his arms to keep from outwardly displaying the little bit of embarrassment that was welling up in his gut. Fantastic. At least he knew he had some emotional self-control, even if he still had to suffer the knowledge that the question incited something shameful in him.

Matt couldn't help but to chuckle a little, having a tantalizing urge to ruffle Mello's hair and berate him and kiss him on the cheek or something. Doing so would probably result in being shot again, though, and he wasn't so keen on that happening so soon. Maybe next week. "Aww, Mello liked kissing me," he teased, though, his nature taking over his common sense as per usual. "We'll have to do it again some time. You know. Lighten your mood."

"Yeah. Right." This was said as more of a scowl than anything, his face amazingly retaining its cream colour. Still, 'yeah' and 'right' didn't seem to have the effect he intended, and Mello did, after all, have to have the last word. "Maybe if you're good." As in, them kissing again was probably a thing that Matt would enjoy, and letting Matt have what he enjoyed was pretty much against Mello's nature if it was something he got nothing out of. Apparently, he got nothing out of kissing the redhead. Absolutely nothing...

"Yeah?" He questioned, sitting up and peering at Mello with a bemused smile on his face. He was playing the game. "So you're saying I'm not?" He airily questioned, leaning towards Mello a bit for absolutely no reason at all. He was just messing with the blonde and he knew it. Playing a game. "You know, first rule of kissing is that you don't enjoy bad kissers." He pointed out.

"You see, I put a pretty wide connotation to what I just said," he said loftily, the corner of his lip turning up unconsciously. "Do you have a guilty conscience about your kissing?" Mello opened his eyes again to look over at Matt, who had become nearer than he had been a few seconds ago. Somehow, the blonde could have cared less. "Or do you just automatically assume that's what I'm talking about?"

Mello had caught him there. "One track mind," he stated deftly in a manner that might have been apologetic if he were someone other than Matt. He, however, was most definitely Matt. The red hair and goggles proved it if his smarmy manner didn't. "No guilty conscience here." He chuckled. "Do you?"

Mello shrugged for a second time within the hour, about nothing in particular. "I haven't had time to develop one," he said, leaning even further against the headboard. The events of later on kept him thinking about things other than the conversation, though a fair space in his mind devoted to the subject kept him remotely focused.

Matt noticed that Mello wasn't all entirely with him-- actually, he just expected Mello to be. He didn't really notice anything; he'd just known other long enough not to care. "Really?" He commented, smiling faintly. He hadn't known the other long enough to know this little tidbit. He had noticed Mello had never really been girl-ambitious back at Wammy's, but he'd accounted that to that there were no attractive girls, and maybe Mello was gay. He'd never say that out loud, though. "So I take it you don't get around? When _was_ the last time you got laid, then?"

Alright, there was no point in lying, or avoiding the question. There was no shame in being a virgin, was there? Probably not, but Matt would take any opportunity to mess with him. Why, he just realized he didn't know. "Never," he said, without so much as breaking a sweat. Mello wasn't concerned with trivial things like getting laid at every chance, or scoring hot chicks. Matt, obviously, was. And he had never considered himself gay before, nor did he really contemplate his being straight. Sexual orientation had really never mattered to him before.

Matt burst out laughing. He wasn't exactly sex-crazed, nor did sex actually mean anything to him, but it was a pastime and a sort of universal, tacit competition. To know that Mello hadn't ever played the game just made him giddy. "Who was your first kiss, then?" He continued, feeling a fleeting sort of ridiculous wish that he'd be Mello's first. He couldn't really picture Mello snogging anyone for real for real, so he was guessing that his chances were pretty good.

And they were. Mello silently figured that he could probably get pretty much anyone he wanted, even if this was a narcissistic deduction. He wasn't unattractive; quite the contrary. But he hadn't kissed anyone for real, at least, not with the intensity that he had done with Matt. Maybe he had had a few small, meaningless kisses when he was younger, but again, they were meaningless. "How would you define a kiss?" he asked plainly, now clearly open and unconcerned about this whole thing.

"Depends on which kind," he stated with the certainty of an expert. He, too, could get mostly anyone he wanted and he'd proved it on more than one occasion. He didn't doubt Mello's ability either-- well. He might've been a bit of a hard ass, but with a couple drinks in him, who knew what could happen? He had the looks. "There's the I Just Want to Fuck You kind, but... I don't know. I 'm talking about the kind where you kiss someone just because you like them in some way or another."

A frown creased his brow, and his head fell back to make contact with the wood behind him. His previous kisses, the ones that occurred when he was in Wammy's, were only experiments. He had never bothered to like someone. He liked L, of course, but that was more of an admiration. Matt....well, he could admit friendship with Matt, if nothing else. "I guess...." He didn't want to really tell the redhead that his kiss was his first (and possibly last), but didn't he just decide that lying was futile? "I suppose I've never kissed anyone like that before you." Wasn't that admitting that he liked Matt, in some way or another?

In some way or another.

Matt grinned, but he gave no further indication of his elated state. Instead, he just turned around and kissed Mello. He kissed him quickly and pulled back, seeming to think for a second before looking satisfied. "Yeah, I like you." He concluded feebly, because he'd forgotten why he'd done it. Something about just wanting to kiss Mello again, for the hell of it, or something.

"Oh yeah?" He said, getting kissed for the third time by Matt. Now, it wasn't an unforgivable offense anymore. It was something he was used to, and rather liked, though that had never been said in a straight answer. He kind of smiled at the contact that had become suddenly familiar to him. Kind of. "You know what, Matt?" He paused a minute, wondering what exactly he was about to say. "I like you too."

Matt beamed. He was really like a dog, waiting for his master's hand of approval, and hell, he had it now. He was a friend to Mello, which they had tacitly agreed last week, Mello admitted that he wasn't just a minion that he could toss aside, Mello liked him. Hell, this was worth the trouble. Almost dying seemed like nothing now; and yet, he couldn't explain why Mello's appreciation meant so much to him. "Good." He stated finally, daring to press his lips to the other's again, this time with a kiss that wasn't so chaste.

Perhaps Mello shouldn't have been so surprised by this next kiss, considering that he was supposed to have known Matt's timing in kissing more than anything. But his eyes still widened slightly by the sudden contact, his immediate reaction being one of retreating into the headboard. It didn't bend for him; instead, it remained stiff and Mello's skull met it with a resounding thud. Ouch.

He pulled back long enough to grin at Mello, chuckling disapprovingly. "N00b." He stated matter-of-factly, shifting his hand to Mello's other side to better hold himself up. The added strain hurt his chest a little more than slightly, but he'd learned to deal with it over the course of the week. "Are you really that bad?"

"Oh, no, thanks, Matt," drawled Mello sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "I'm just fine. Don't worry about me." He had just whacked his head against the unyielding wood behind him, and Matt didn't seem to care. Of course, he wasn't hurt in the slightest. He should have known that he'd get another condescending remark from the redhead; that was just to be expected.

"I'm sure you could handle it, your head's hard enough." Matt pointed out in all seriousness, although there was still that smirk playing at his lips. "You didn't go too far. I'll have enough time to worry about you day after tomorrow." He pointed out, his grin melting into something of a grim smile as he deemed it necessary to back off and relax again. He, however, took the liberty of using Mello's thigh as a pillow.

Mello grumbled characteristically, though he was merciful enough to keep his words too soft to be heard. Instead, he looked down at Matt as though amused, amused by the fact that the gamer would be presumptuous enough to assume that using his thigh as a pillow was okay. "Comfortable?" He asked. No, more like demanded, though his voice was light enough. He wasn't mad, just intrigued by the fact that Matt thought he could take Mello's confession as a sign that he could do whatever he pleased.

Or maybe he was just feeling audacious. "Very." Or maybe he just wanted Mello to kiss him, damn it. He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with the other, though, and he figured that this was suitable punishment. Or maybe he was just too lazy to go back to his side of the bed. Matt had enough reasons to make quite a puzzle out of him if he wanted to; he never seemed to have a set motivation. "Why, aren't you?"

"Not particularly." He decided to abandon the sarcasm for the time being, though he was more than capable of bringing it back in any situation. "Could I convince you to get your head off of my leg?" He thought about it for a minute. "Then again, I could always make you get off me." Despite the fact that Matt was still recovering a bullet wound, Mello was not past shoving him off.

"I'd really object to that," Matt stated, although he knew it didn't really matter. He knew better than anyone that Mello was speaking the truth too, and this nearly convinced him to get off. He might have tried bargaining for a kiss, but he didn't really want to be rejected and he had a feeling that rejection might just happen. So he shifted a little and laid his head against the bed instead. "Happy now, Princess?"

He growled. "You're not going to let that go, are you?" he asked, reasoning that he'd have to get some revenge sooner or later. Mello then remembered his last form of revenge and where it had got him. He wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Predominantly a good thing, since he supposed that it had earned him his first kiss. However, it wasn't clear whether Matt was the ideal candidate for such a thing.

Matt would have been highly offended if he could have heard that last bit, but as things were, he only smiled and shook his head. "Not a chance. You'll carry it to your grave... Princess." He threw in, just to make sure that Mello got the point before he smirked slightly and threw up his momentary white flag. Truce, please, he didn't want to get mauled. Or sat upon. Either way, Mello's revenge was not exactly something that a sane person looked forward to.

"You're an ass." No, no revenge today, though he wasn't just going to keep letting the redhead use that degrading nickname for long. Someday, he'd get back at Matt to where he'd never forget it, though this time he resolved to keep guns out of the picture. He figured they caused too much trouble, anyway. Well, in this context.

Well, guns had almost cost Matt his life twice, both directly and indirectly, so he would have to say that he'd agree. Any revenge but guns, thanks. No revenge at all, preferably. "I know," he answered Mello with something of a sly smirk playing on his lips. "So are you." They were well-suited. No wonder they were friends.

"Mhmmm."

This sound neither confirmed nor denied the fact that Mello was an ass as well, but simply acknowledged that, yes, he was still listening despite the fact that he had nothing to say to the other. A mutual silence was better than one that was unsure on either end, not that the blonde doubted Matt in the slightest.

"Get some sleep," Matt suggested after a while of quiet, not having any idea what time it was or if it was time to get any sleep or not, but given the nature of their schedules and the vigorous lifestyle they led, Matt would have to say that any time that would allow at least a consecutive hour of sleep was a good time. "Or are you just going to sit there and stare?"

Mello rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, as though in mock thought, and then looked back down to where Matt was.

"I was thinking about it," he said. This comment, as light as it sounded, wasn't wholly a jest. There wasn't long before his plan would be set into motion, and until then they would still be working hard. Well, at least he would. Matt would probably stick around the hotel, since Mello had a pretty good "if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself" mindset, and he'd feel uneasy about sending the redhead out to do important things such as this.

Of course, because Matt was completely incompetent. "Well, you might want to stop thinking and just do it." He rolled his eyes, decidedly going to sleep. Mello could deal with whatever he wanted to himself, and Matt could rest like a normal person who had just recovered from a serious infection over a gunshot wound. He wasn't going to let that go, even if Mello deemed it not such a big deal. One day, Matt would shoot Mello and see how he felt when he thought that he was going to spontaneously combust every other hour.

Even if Mello was conscious of this plan, he wouldn't have been overly concerned. After all, Matt had never struck him as someone who would try and harm him in any way. On the contrary.

But he didn't sleep yet. He stayed awake, thinking, thinking about everything to do tomorrow, about anything at all, until his mind was just too worn to think anymore until its synapses were sufficiently healed. And so he followed suit, falling asleep almost immediately as soon as his eyes fell shut.

--

**A/N:** Why hello there. It's been forever since I've updated this.


	16. Chapter 16

**juroku.**

Seven fucking thirty in the morning. This was an ungodly time to be awake. He didn't even know what his internal clock was protesting the time was, either. All he knew was that his entire body was on fire-- but it was a comfortable sort of fire, unlike what he'd experienced when he was feverish. This was... a different kind of fever.

"Cold shower, cold shower..." He mumbled over and over, trying to distract himself from a certain dream he'd had-- call it a wet dream if you would, but Matt would have to object to it actually being wet. He had been about two minutes shy. "Fuck," he grumbled, climbing out of the shower and jerking a hotel towel around his bony hips. The chorus of 'cold shower' wasn't helping the monstrous tidal wave of inappropriate thoughts he was having at the moment.

And too bad Mello was a light sleeper. Approximately at this time, the groggy elder one sat up in his spot and swiveled his gaze over to where Matt had been laying only moments ago. This spot was empty, though, owing to the fact that he seemed to have, by the looks of things, gone to the bathroom.

He slid out of the bed and stretched a bit, this task really only doing the job of waiting for Matt to come back.

By the time Mello was up and about, Matt had found a small wash cloth to gingerly press against the healing wound in his chest. With the bandages off, it had taken the opportunity to bleed a bit, but it wasn't anything to worry about. Matt looked rather mortified when he walked out of the bathroom, halting partway out the door before he decided that hew as just going to ignore Mello. But, ultimately, he'd never been good at that. "What are you doing up?" He questioned, sounding somewhat deadpan as he threw a shirt, pants, and a roll of bandages onto the bed.

Mello cocked an eyebrow.

"I could ask you the same question," he said, without missing a beat. "I was actually up because I heard you get up." Mostly because he was a light sleeper and could have never stayed under after having the bed shift under him and the shower turn on and off. Not to mention Matt's movements around the room.

"I had a weird dream," Matt answered curtly but honestly, wondering how long his aversion to lies would hold out. Somehow, he managed to wrangle on both his boxers and pants without being too indecent, sitting on the bed with a somewhat satisfied, somewhat tired sigh. It was way too early to be up.

"Oh, really?"

To be honest, Mello never would have inquired about his reasoning about being awake early, unless of course he looked to be doing something suspicious. A shower, though, wasn't too questionable, so he had previously let it slide. Now that he was bringing up the subject of a "weird" dream, he might as well ask about it, right? If it was worth bringing up, it was worth pursuing, and Mello had a naturally curious mind.

"Yeah," he answered ambiguously, sighing rather exasperatedly and looking to Mello. He looked like he'd continue even if Matt made it obvious that he didn't want to talk about it, so he decided to save them both the trouble. "It was about you, actually." He stated in a way that was conclusive-- or at least, he hoped it was. He didn't want Mello to push it, then he'd start lying.

Another eyebrow was carefully raised. Even if Mello had mind enough to reach a conclusion such as that, he probably wouldn't have brought it up anyway. He wanted to hear Matt's lie.

"Dreaming about me?" he questioned further, smiling slyly. "Is there any point in asking what you were dreaming?" If Matt denied him, then he'd get suspicious.

"No," he answered, knowing full well that Mello probably would have a hell of many things to think about if he wasn't going to answer him directly, but he didn't really care. So what if Mello guessed the truth? If he just denied it, he'd be okay. He lay back against the puffy pillows, inhaling and exhaling deeply again with a small wince of pain. One day he was going to get Mello back; this was getting pretty annoying.

"Fine." He launched into a miniscule amount of considering, thinking about the possibilities of Matt's dreams, though stopped after a moment. A flicker of dawning crossed over his eyes, a frown preceded it, but he didn't voice the possibility of what he had just realized. Instead, he went to the window and looked out it with his binoculars, searching for anything that could be of consequence. When nothing presented itself, he placed the thing back onto the side table and swiveled around toward his companion.

He watched Mello do-- as he thought was always something Mello did-- pointless things for a little while longer before he flicked the roll of bandages across the bed. "Wanna help me?" He questioned, sitting up a bit and pulling the wash cloth away from his skin. "Please?" He added on, hoping that this would help him. He didn't want to be nice to Mello at the moment, but he also didn't want to have to attempt bandaging his chest himself.

Mello, however, presently bore no ill will toward Matt, and therefore picked up the offending bandages, unrolled them, and came around to wind it tightly around the other's chest. Having done this numerous times, he considered himself a pro at it. If bandaging was an Olympic sport, he would probably take gold.

He reached to the bedside table to procure a couple of metallic clasps, holding them up for Mello to take and fasten once he finished. "Thanks," he stated rather grudgingly, appreciating at least that now this wasn't an awkward operation like it had been the first couple of times.

He finished his part with effortless ease, and then shrugged instead of the generally accepted reply of 'you're welcome'. Then again, he never was into saying that on a regular basis, though he was sure he had used this socially coined phrase once in awhile with Matt. But Matt was Matt, and an overall different story when affiliated with Mello.

The blonde strode away from the bed edgily and went to the first thing he knew would satiate him: chocolate.

Matt had long since dismissed Mello's disregard for socially acceptable courteousness for 'being Mello', rather than lacking manners. He'd known Mello for too long to think any differently. Lying back, he closed his eyes again and attempted to think of life after the Kira case. Would he and Mello still keep in contact? Or would it be like before, where they'd fall apart for years and years on end, only to call on each other when one of them was in trouble; like being blown up Much to his distaste, his thoughts kept floating back to his fingers on Mello's skin, conveying every thought, feeling, and emotion with a kiss. "Great," he muttered, his nose wrinkling for the hold that the dream still had on him. "Really fucking great..."

And, 'being Mello', he turned at the sound of cussing. It wasn't an abnormal thing. Mello just wanted to know what was up, and if it required any immediate attention. He also hoped that it didn't have anything to do with the redhead's infection so close to their plan. His plan. "What's up?" He asked loftily.

"Nothing to worry about," he immediately reassured Mello, knowing full well that Mello wouldn't be interested in hearing about his less-than-appropriate dream. Mostly, that was what he was hoping. "Just thinking." He clarified, idly picking at the bandages and further prolonging the donning of his shirt.

"Feel like sharing?" he asked, once again pressing the other for information he probably didn't want to share. Mello, for some reason, felt like he deserved to know everything that was going on in Matt's mind, especially in places where the gamer probably didn't want to divulge.

Matt had tried to decide long ago that if he didn't pry in Mello's business, Mello wouldn't pry in his-- but sadly, the self-assumed and self-accepted step in authority undermined that decision. "Not really," he answered, almost sounding annoyed, although he wasn't, really. "You wouldn't be interested."

And pry Mello would because, contrary to what Matt thought, he was interested. Hell, he was interested in anything a person deemed too personal or too negligible to share, because that lack of knowledge just made him curious.

"Try me," he dared, half of his subconscious lamed to know that he probably wouldn't try him. There was always hope, though.

"No thanks," Matt answered banally as though he really thought this would make Mello lay off. He glanced to the other, pursing his lips almost in thought for a moment before shaking his head with a sigh. "No, I think I'd have to be on my death bed to tell you." He stated decisively, partially only to mess with Mello a bit.

It didn't matter if Matt was messing with him or not; it was statements like that which got him even more interested. He bit off a piece of chocolate and strode closer to Matt, as though this would make him spill his secret.

"I'm going to find out eventually," he reminded, disregarding the fact that they would be going in to snatch Takada in a little more than forty-eight hours.

Matt shifted somewhat uncomfortably when Mello decided to come closer to him-- ordinarily he wouldn't have given a damn, but he couldn't help it this time. "No you won't," he adamantly denied. "Not if I never say anything about it and you can't make me." He pointed out in a highly childish manner. He couldn't really be bothered with being mature at the moment, though.

To hell I can't," he said defensively. Ok, he couldn't, but that had yet to be proven aloud, even if Matt seemed to think it was impossible. Guns were his usual method of persuasion, but his presence alone was a thing to be taken into consideration, since he was good at rough talk and threatening. That probably wouldn't work on Matt, so the last stage was nagging, and he thought himself pretty damn good at that, too.

Nagging, probably, was what would get to Matt the most. Mostly because he had no patience when it came to something like that, and for the most part, went out of his way to avoid being bothered about something more than twice. Probably, that was the reason why he didn't procrastinate all the work he did for Mello. "Prove it," he challenged, his nature obtrusive to his means as always.

That stipulation took Mello slightly off-guard, as he considered nagging to be a delicate and long-term means to draw information, as well as a last resort. So, he figured he'd joke his way around it and then sneak up on him later. It wasn't of utmost importance that he knew what Matt was thinking, but it was at least worth him coming back to the subject later.

"Please?" he asked, grinning and advancing forward just a little more.

Matt gritted his teeth and held his ground, he didn't want to give Mello another weapon to use against him, although he would have to say that Mello would have to be an idiot to not notice his already given signs of discomfort. "Since when do you say please?" He interrogated, although it was a serious, honest to God question. Since when did Mello say please?

And Matt's discomfort was exactly the reason why Mello had come even closer, now brushing against the bed with his knee. This simple exchange was taking his mind off of the future plans, after all.

"Since just now," he said smoothly, his grin fading, though one corner of his lip couldn't help but to stay aloft.

Matt looked like Mello was physically maiming him, and did his best to inch away just a bit. Hell, if Mello was exhibiting that he knew, Matt might as well move. "It's not becoming," he answered airily, like he thought that demeaning Mello would really help his present situation.

"What a damn shame," he said, smirk becoming a mocking look of disappointment. "And I was hoping to change my whole appearance based on that." One step back earned one step forward; Mello was now sitting on the bed, one arm propping him up. Maybe instead of nagging, he'd just make Matt incredibly nervous. It seemed to be working.

"Then if that's not good enough, what can I do to make you tell me?"

"Nothing, because it's not happening," Matt stated in order to try and stand his ground, defiantly turning his head so that he couldn't look at Mello. That might have worked in theory, but it certainly didn't work in practice. He could still feel Mello agonizingly close to him, and his mind was absolutely racing. It wasn't just a matter of an awkward sex dream-- it wasn't like he just wanted to fuck Mello and be done with it. Damn, you were one sad mother fucker when sex dreams meant something to you. Really, really sad.

Mello frowned. Damn....that usually worked. As a punishment of sorts, he inched closer, the propped up hand dragging over to rest on his knee nonchalantly.

"C'mon," he said, so that it could almost have been mistaken for a whine. "Tell me, asshole." If his usual methods of persuasion weren't working, it only made him twice as curious.

Mello had a strange knack for being pathetic but domineering all at once. Maybe it ws the explicative-- or maybe it was that Matt was just trying his very hardest to perceive Mello as sad so he could laugh it off and never tell. "Why do you want to know, huh?" He challenged in an effort to turn t his around.

This time, though, Mello had a prepared response.

"Because when you of all people put in the effort to hide something from me, I know something's up," he said, stating the truth. Matt was too lazy to keep secrets, least of all from Mello.

"Not necessarily up," he answered, although his stance was slightly weakened because Mello was completely right this time. He didn't have a very unyielding nature anyways, so it did make sense that it might be something of interest when it came to Mello. "Just... weird." He tried to excuse, at least keeping his gaze averted from directly meeting Mello's if he couldn't keep looking away.

"Up, weird." He weighed these two on either hand. "There's no difference. I want to know, and you won't tell me." What did it matter, anyway? Something being 'up' and something being 'weird' were the same in his book, especially when it referred to something he wanted--and in a sense needed--to know.

Matt sighed, deciding that this was going to end up going in circles for the next hour and end up pissing one of them off. "I had a sex dream about you," he stated dismissively, figuring that beating around the bush just wasn't going to be worth it. Even though he'd managed to get it all out in one breath, he found himself unable to say anything else afterwards. Well. This wasn't awkward in the least bit. "You wanted to know," he mumbled finally.

Mello stared for a minute, daring Matt to laugh and proclaim it all to be a joke. When he didn't, the blonde found himself rooted to the spot, but not for the reasons he may have thought.

"Was I good?" he asked, deciding to break the ice with something other than what he had been thinking of only seconds ago, something along the lines of 'yeah, i did want to know, but now I'm not so sure' or 'man, you were right'. Neither of those seemed

Matt snorted, glad that Mello had saved him some dignity with at least the semblance of a joke. "Very," he answered ambiguously, making it unknown if he was being sarcastic or not. He wasn't, though, and the way that he still wouldn't look directly at Mello made it fairly obvious. "Mostly it was weird because I wasn't... well," he paused, his ability to speak previously used up and now completely lost. "I mean, I didn't... do it just to do it, which was the weird part."

"Oh yeah?"

Mello was in his old position again, leaning back against one hand to languidly survey Matt under lidded pupils. Something about his avoidance of the elder's gaze was troublesome, irritating. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Mel', I never have sex and want it to mean something," he answered, knowing that all in all, this answer of his wasn't much of an answer, but it sufficed for the time being. "I mean... I don't know what I mean." All he knew was nothing, and he couldn't get over that. Maybe he would have told Mello right off the bat if it had been down and dirty fucking, but it wasn't, and that really got under Matt's skin.

"So you're telling me that our dream sex was different than what you had with all of those hookers in the past?" By hookers he meant girlfriends, but even Matt couldn't call most of those girls 'girlfriends' after the relationship he had with them. Even so.

"Does that mean you love me?" he asked, grinning again. This question wasn't meant to be overtly serious.

"Yeah, our dream sex was mad different," he answered scowling at Mello for the mention of his past girlfriends. He caught the reference quite well because, he, like Mello, knew that none of these girls were anyone he'd cared about. "First of all, you took it up the ass." He stabbed. Immediately after, though, he was forced to throw a pillow at Mello for the question he posed. "Hell if I know!" He answered honestly, although he did his very best to sneak a jesting tone in there. This context he could deal with, he didn't want to put a damper on the mood, not really.

Mello made a gesture with his eyebrows at this wording of 'taking it up the ass'. Not that he'd ever had sex, or even thought about it enough to discern why he was taken aback by this. For one, taking it up the ass wasn't a social norm, and so he couldn't be trusted to not react. And second, this meant that he had played the submissive role. Even in erotic dreams Mello hated being put in a subordinate position....and to Matt of all people....

"Sure, sure," he said, the grin fading to a mild smirk that was barely there, picking up the offending pillows and tossing them back in the direction from whence they came.

Well Matt wasn't going to dream about himself taking it up the ass, oh no. And he didn't think that the whole motive his sex dream seemed to have bestowed upon itself would have really been wonderfully encompassed if Mello hadn't been the bitch. Not that he thought of Mello in that particular term—he just felt like the more vulgar he was with it, the more comfortable he was. Funny how that worked out. "What, you don't believe me? You think I'm in love with you?" He challenged, fighting the pillows at least out of his way if not to do anything else with them.

"It would explain a lot," said Mello languorously, allowing the words to escape his lips in a haughty sigh. To his surprise, he found his words to be true, though he wouldn't say that aloud in fear that Matt would be offended by such a proposition. Then again, when had the blonde ever cared whether or not the other became offended? Maybe this was just a special occasion.

"Hmph," Matt snorted, clearly offended by just the suggestion, even if it did seem to be in jest this time. Maybe because Mello had actually hit a soft spot with him? It _would _explain a lot, a lot of things that Matt hadn't ever really been able to put a name to, like why he wanted to follow Mello around like a dog, unquestioningly doing anything he said, wanting to touch him just for the sake of touching him, kiss him just for the sake of kissing him, try to being this to some level of mutual.... Whatever. Matt was really starting to confuse himself. "I'll love you the day you don't get enough of it from yourself," Matt jabbed, his defenses a bit on the high. Just a bit.

What an odd thing to say. At least in Mello's opinion, who was clearly fascinated by this mere statement, though it really wasn't something of dire consequence. He cocked his head, wondering what the hell had changed since the day he moved in with the redhead. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing....just, weird. Confusing, maybe. Sporadic in the worst sense of the word. Opposing.

"I wonder when that'll be," he said, posing this musing to not just Matt, but himself as well.

Matt had certainly gotten more irritable, if that was to say something. Why, though, he wouldn't be able to answer. He had his theories, but like Mello, he was very adamant and particular about the things he said and the things he kept quiet. "In not too long, probably." He stated, almost in an offhand matter as he sat up a little straighter, breathing a restless sigh.

This last seemed to have settled the matter, and Mello was itching to move to the window and look out it again, just for the sake of doing so. He stood up.

"Right," he said, exhaling lowly and moving lucidly toward the sill, picking up the binoculars and gazing for a moment before turning away and deciding that he'd try and keep himself from going to look every five seconds. Maybe he'd cut down on the nervous habit.

Matt observed the other for a moment, long since having noticed that Mello was always trying to do something productive, but he didn't really say anything about it. He found it as hard for him to stop looking at the blonde, though, as he found it to stop looking out the window. Finally, he tried again at civil conversation to make Mello look his way so he'd have an excuse to stare at the ceiling. "Ever had a sex dream, Holy Virgin Mello?"

Finally addressed, and more importantly preoccupied, Mello looked to Matt and treated this inquiry with a frown. He knew, by the way it had been asked, that despite its jest, it would eventually require a serious answer.

"Sure I have," he said smoothly, unabashed. "Every male has had a wet dream." Not lately, though. His first and more likely last wet dream had been in Wammy's, since you never had time to broad on the erotic when you were battling a mass murderer.

Matt chuckled. This was true. He'd probably had many wet dreams since Wammy's and long after then-- although he couldn't remember the great deal of them and he would have to say that he considered this a good thing. Better dwell on reality than think about his fantasies. It was kind of hard, though, when one of them was standing around in the same room as him. "Oh yeah?" He commented, only to say something-- he found that his cleverly thought out plan didn't really work-- he was still looking at Mello, at least wanting to grab him and kiss him hard. Although, he could be satisfied with just a hug or something.

"Mhmmm."

This last was also just a sound to fill the void, since their conversation seemed to hve slipped into oblivion again, and Matt was staring at him very carefully. In fact, it made him feel uneasy.

"What're you looking at?" he asked, knowing full well what it was that he was looking at.

"You." Matt blurted out before he could really help himself. He wasn't sure what else he would have said though, so he didn't feel too abashed by it. He eyed Mello for a while longer before closing his eyes, trying to ward away the thoughts. It wasn't like he wanted to throw Mello down and have rough sex with him, so that was the weird part. "Got a problem with it or something?" Defenses still high.

"Maybe a little bit, yeah," said Mello, though it was clear that he wasn't disconcerted in the slightest. The staring was understandable in this situation, though he knew that eventually he would get freaked out by those staring eyes that were only magnified in oddness by the giant red bug eyes that were his goggles.

To match that staring, however, combat it in a way, he stared right back, subconsciously stomping closer as he had done before.

Matt didn't break his gaze this time-- staring off in some other direction hadn't helped him figure out his situation before, so why not look at Mello? Maybe staring the other down would give him some answers.

... No such luck.

Matt found himself growling and grumbling when Mello came closer, doing his best to, once more, stand his ground again. "Well that's too bad." He stated, unable to think of anything witty. "What the hell is it about you that's driving me so fucking nuts?" He questioned out loud finally, wondering if this would do him any good at all.

Mello initially ignored this first inquiry, dismissing it because it didn't merit a response. Usually, no matter the situation, he would always have the last word, but rght now he knew that it would be meaningless to answer since it was likely that the other would speak again....and wouldn't you know it: he was right.

"I dunno," he said quietly.

It was something of a shocker to hear Mello speak quietly, but Matt was glad to hear it. It calmed him down, at least, because even though is words were level, a million thoughts at once were ricocheting in his head and he really couldn't handle that. "Well, you should." He stated, almost accusingly, having picked up the habit of blaming other people for his misfortunes. It only ever applied, though, when he couldn't figure out his own thoughts. "I can't..." He pursed his lips together, unable to string together a coherent train of thought. "I'm not so sure you really know how much I care about you." He stated, attempting to make his words scathing, but very much failing.

At last, Mello was taken aback, blinking at the words as though that simple task would banish them altogether. This attempt, of course, failed, and he was left merely standing there, staring and wondering where all of this was going.

"Oh, yeah?" he questioned, this being the usual accepted answer when you were at a lack of anything else [anything coherent, that was] to say.

"Yeah." Matt answered simply, although the thoughtful look that he was giving the sheets showed that he was using Mello's neutral answer as a stepping stone in order to try and figure out exactly where he was going with this. He needed to get it out of his head, off his chest, and then he could go play some video games or something. "And I want you to know because no matter what you say, I still feel like we're going to die. I'll believe you when you say we won't but I'll still feel it, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," said the elder dully, knowing that yes, this was true, and yes, this same feeling found itself seeping into Mello's own mind when he was left to broad on it. But he always was convinced that he would beat Near, because he wanted so badly to be first place. Matt didn't have a goal like that that he could believe he was being kept alive for. Maybe that's why he was more pessimistic about it.

Having nothing else to say, he fell silent, still watching, wondering if something else would be said despite his inherent lack of speech.

Matt considered the silence for a while, at least glad that they had a mutual understanding at some respect. "If you were going to die soon, what would you want to do?" He asked finally, keeping his question ambiguous because one: Mello hadn't said anything really, and two: he didn't want to get too sentimental here. He was already starting to sound uncharacteristically sappy.

Mello had thought about this question, believe it or not, though not in the terms that perhaps Matt was referring to. He had wanted to beat Near before he died, so he would probably do everything he could to achieve that before he died, no matter how much time he had left. Beat Near. That always had and ever would be his primary goal, because he knew nothing else.

"I'd do my best to beat Near one last time," he said, his voice hardening. "I need to accomplish that."

Matt smiled faintly. So Near took the gold again. Even if Mello did beat him, in Matt eyes, Near always had them both beat, governing Mello's goals and interests. "Of course you do." He answered candidly. "Everything's about fucking Near, isn't it?" He questioned, his tone of voice still as impartial as ever, but his rather quiet words insinuating otherwise.

"Yeah," he confirmed, almost unconcernedly. That was pretty much how his life worked, and trying to change someone's nature was almost as impossible as trying to reason with Mello at gunpoint. "At least, that's how it used to be."

Sure, his priorities still revolved mainly around the beating of Near, but ever since he moved in with Matt, he discovered that friendship that they had had almost too long ago. Of course, being their ages, they couldn't rekindle it back to the point of genuine friendship again, but Mello liked to think that it was pretty damn close.

Matt was bitter for a few moments longer until he heard Mello's closing statement. At that, he glanced up to the other with some semblance of hope, but he quickly wiped it away before he could get too mushy. "You don't say." He goaded, trying to at least get Mello to continue. He hadn't ever really wanted to change Mello, or he didn't even want Mello's final thoughts to revolve around him, he just wanted to know that he meant something worth thinking about when you, quite possibly, wouldn't ever think again. Just for a moment, a brief moment, chaster than a kiss.

"I do."

And he left it at that. Like Matt, Mello had certain boundaries as to what he would and wouldn't tell other people, even if they had gotten into a habit of telling each other nearly everything. Then again, he wanted to keep a control on his divulgences, since they seemed to get away with him sometimes.

Matt decided that this conversation wasn't going to go any further; they both seemed to have exhausted their comfort zones, and quite frankly, Matt was okay with that. It bugged him a bit because he came out with few more answers than he came in with, but at least he had something. He turned over onto his side, gazing out the window with some kind of discontent written on his features. Like many other things at the time being, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, though.

This marking the end of the conversation, at least for the time being, he strode away, performing his usual routine of making something seem like nothing, and putting himself at ease. After a time, though, this always grew tiresome, because a false occupation was a fleeting escape.

So Mello went to the chair propped up against the wall near the window and sat; like Matt he also stared out it, not to survey but to just drink in the sight below him.

After a while of silence, Matt decided that he couldn't bear the uncertainty of his own thought. It was like Wammy's after Mello left all over again-- except Mello was still there in the room with him. It was just like Mello wasn't real... or something. Maybe he was just being melodramatic, but that didn't stop him from getting up, unceremoniously stalking over to where Mello was seated, looking at him oddly for a moment and finally leaning down to kiss him. First, he made brief contact with the corner of the blonde's lips, then inched closer in. He wanted answers; he wanted Mello to be right there with him.

For the amount of times they'd kissed, you'd think they were going steady or something. Mello leaned back slightly, a natural response to Matt being right up in his face, even if he was pretty used to it by now. Once he grew familiar with the fact that the redhead was indeed kissing him, he leaned in slightly and pressed into the other with his mouth, pursuing a kind of silent conversation between them. His kiss conveyed something like 'stop being so sentimental, ass. Don't you know we're going to make it out of this alright?'

Matt was glad, to say the least, that Mello wasn't turning him away or being repulsed, or something. Not that after all the times they'd kissed he'd think that Mello would reject him so adamantly, he just... hadn't been so sure of himself. He put his fingertips gingerly at the back of Mello's neck to kepe him from going anywhere; they were at an awkward enough position, what with Matt standing and Mello sitting and all. He stopped for breath, not because they'd been going at it long, but because he hadn't any, wasting it on being worried. "I'll believe you when you believe me," he muttered before returning his lips to Mello's, his open-ended statement getting no resolution.

A muffled sound arose from the back of Mello's throat, a sound that could have been construed as a gesture of assent. He didn't know exactly what he was believing, though he wasn't exactly focused on the words as much as he was on the actions. After all, they spoke louder. That was the old saying.

The blonde craned his neck further upward, as if trying fervently to find something there. His mind floated pleasantly; he never was genuinely happy or blank before, except for when he was kissing Matt. Afterward, though, he would probably become even more aggressive than ordinary.

"This isn't exactly…" Matt stated, having pulled away just long enough to utter those words before a magnetism pulled him back to Mello's skin, at least savoring the warmth close enough to assure him that yes, Mello was there with him. Mello's thoughts, at least for now, weren't off gallivanting with Near or Kira, but they were there, with him. In the kiss, which he all too contently renewed. He could feel the reach in Mello's kiss and was satisfied to elicit something like that. "Comfortable…" he finally finished, several seconds too late. He took Mello by the elbow-- specifically chosen for its lack of intimacy-- to guide him back to the bed where at least they wouldn't have to strain to reach each other.

"Righ--" And though Mello never allowed himself to be led anywhere unless he himself had originally willed it to be so, he allowed himself to be directed. He paced backwards instead of sideways or forwards in order to lessen the time he had to take standing, since he didn't feel like he could stand and kiss at the same time.

No, his thoughts had finally wandered to where Matt's currently resided, and were content there for its moment. Like a drug, like nicotine.

Like chocolate.

Matt managed to get them both to the bed okay, managing to get them to sit down in one piece. There, he tentatively slid his fingers up to Mello's shoulders, gingerly touching him like it was a taboo. Even though he knew the truth from the things his mother used to tell him when he was a child, he still wanted to kiss Mello to find the answers. He still wanted to feel Mello's skin against his to tell the other just how much he cared. He wanted to know if he really did love Mello, and if this was the way to the answer, so be it. He kissed him again. Harder.

It was funny [or maybe not so much] how Matt could kiss him so hard yet touch him so gently, contrasting the various contact and making Mello wonder about it, like one wonders the true intentions of a whisper. But he wasn't going to let the one thing that was harsh overbear him; in fact, it was impossible for him to be unwillingly compelled. He was curious about the kissing, the touches. He was at peace within them, though there was no discernable reason why. Mello kissed back, pressing roughly as though the other would be lost if he didn't

Warmth. Mello's shoulder was a layer of leather away, but Matt didn't really care. Reassurance. Creeping over, Matt's ginger fingertips found the first coast of the other's skin, hot like fire. Rough. The scar tissue teased his feeling fingers, broken and imperfect against his skin. It hit Matt all at once, then-- he couldn't describe in words what hit him, but something did. He broke the kiss, sending Mello into oblivion if he really thought kissing Matt hard would keep him from going away. Almost lazily, he brought his lips again to Mello, but to his skin, to his smooth collar bone to follow his clavicle all the way to the shifting texture. "I do love you," he admitted to Mello's flaws. "Everything about you and your goddamned ways."

This was nothing like the kiss they had shared those weeks ago when Mello had condemned Matt to a place underneath him. Then, there was a certain restriction that kept them from discovering anything or being locked safely in the moment for too long. Now, there was nothing like that to keep the leather-clad male from leaning heavily against something that vaguely resembled Matt, but he couldn't quite tell. He did, however, hear the spoken words, his hearing having heightened do to his restricted touch.

"Fuck....Now that wasn't so hard, now was it?" Best to keep things light.

"I feel sick," Matt answered, completely honestly, too. Not so hard his ass. He'd like to hear Mello say he loved Matt and see how he felt then. He turned his head just slightly so that his words were silenced against Mello's skin, still treasuring that valuable spot where flawless turned to fire. His hand, though, decided that it would venture up Mello's neck to find what seemed to be an endless network of burns. "Geeze, you really fucked yourself up." He commented, like he hadn't been the one to bandage Mello, to take care of him when these wounds were fresh.

"Yeah, real nice, asshole," he commented, none too happy with having his scars remarked upon. He had had no choice. Death and capture resulted in the same thing: Kira and Near's victory. This seemed like a very small price to pay compared to the alternative. Not to mention that if he had not exploded the place, it would be the equivalent of giving up. He relied on chance.

Though his skin was more or less numb in the places that Matt's hand was currently tracing, he couldn't help but feel an odd pooling sensation gather in his stomach. It was the contact again.

Matt laughed lightly, content for the moment with keeping close to Mello's skin, the warmth of his body, the closeness of his words, the overall unyielding presence of the blonde sitting so close to him. He couldn't help but feel like a sentimental git, even with their joking words and insulting manner. "I know. Terrible." He muttered, a wry grin taking over his lips. He didn't really know the answers, no. He knew they'd be even farther away if he let go, though, so that was why he didn't. Even though they weren't doing anything but sitting there, he wouldn't, couldn't let go of Mello. Not yet, not when he was so close to the answer.

He fell silent for a moment, trying to figure out that weird feeling in his gut while listening to the reverberating sound of Matt's words. Mello didn't dare shift in position, knowing that the slightest movement would throw off the delicate placement they had made. Most of their placements were so rough and impenetrable, after all. It seemed a shame to destroy this one, the one that varied in feeling.

"So what's your plan of action?" he asked, suddenly discomforted by the act of sitting and doing nothing, when there was suddenly so much to be done.

Matt looked up at Mello from his somewhat curled, crouched position-- awkward, but comfortable. Strangely. "Plan of action?" He repeated, almost amused. He wasn't like Mello-- he didn't have a plan of action for everything. "I can't just sit here with you and think about how you're going to get killed without me some day?" He questioned, carefully inserting himself into Mello's life as what he'd always at least seen himself as: someone to help Mello if he ever needed it, unquestioningly, wholly.

Mello shook his head. "We're executing a kidnapping tomorrow. I don't have time for sitting and thinking." Though hell could he use it. Sitting and thinking was all well and good when the thinking involved his schemes and how to work them, but thinking about trivial things would only hurt their operation....or so he thought.

Maybe he just didn't like this whole idea of Matt caring, Matt loving him, now that his mind had room to form coherent thought processes.

It was unbelievable that they were tackling this suicide mission so soon. "That's too bad," he answered, decidedly hanging onto Mello a little tighter. He wasn't going to let Mello walk around the room, pace, and do other pointless things. He couldn't stand the sight of Mello walking back and forth like someone, something was slowly pulling away his insides. "You'll have to sit here with me."

"And what will that do for me?" he questioned, arguing further. "For us? For the whole plan? Goddamn, Matt. I wouldn't have kissed you back if I would have thought you were going to keep me here."

Honestly, he probably would have gone ahead and kissed him anyway. Matt's kissing, as he had mused before, was an intoxicating thing that kept the mind running itself into circles, an oblivious kind of euphoria. Ignorant bliss.

"Give you a chance to wind down." Matt pointed out matter-of-factly, a sly grin taking over his lips as though he knew that Mello would have kissed him anyways. Well, he knew that his kiss meant something to Mello, and that was good enough for him. His lips snuck back to the elder's, taking the initiative to gently brush across them, contrary to his kisses before, akin to his tentative touch. "So kiss me again, and maybe you'll get somewhere."

Mello's eyes followed the lips that briefly touched his own and then were gone, body rigid from something he couldn't explain. Again, he blamed it on the unfamiliar contact just to assuage his mind.

"You're a bastard," he stated loftily, softly. This was contrasted to his shove forward, nearly tackling Matt's mouth with the effort. If they were going to kiss again, he was taking the more assertive role, the role that the other had had almost every other time. And he wasn't relinquishing it.

Matt was somewhat surprised by Mello's sudden decision to be aggressive. He yielded, though, a sharp pain raicing through his chest just long enough for him to completely fall to Mello's whim. He smiled inwardly, though, knowing that this was just what he wanted. To be a bastard. To torture Mello. To make him act, motivate him. Matt tried to win back some dignity here, tried to kiss back hard enough that somehow Mello would suddenly know that Matt loved him for his rashness, for his flaws.

Mello anchored himself on either side of the other with his palms, oblivious to the intentions behind the counter move to his kiss. He was unaware of what Matt wanted, though maybe something would ignite in him if he knew. So much had changed; it just wasn't right. Wammy's to Kira to Mafia to Matt to....well, he hadn't gotten that far yet. That stage of his life was still melded with the one he had spent with Matt. The only thing that remained true through them all, really, was ambition.

He lifted one hand uncertainly, wonderingly, though his body language didn't give away the uneasiness. That hand reached up to barely shift the cloth of Matt's shirt. Still wondering.

Matt would swear that his chest stopped hurting. It didn't do much for him, but he could swear that cotton was in his ears. Was Mello as curious as he was to the answer? Did Mello have questions too? Matt had always seen Mello as someone who always knew what to do... but for once, Matt wanted to be wrong. He kissed more imposingly to encourage the other on. Go ahead. Find some answers and stop wondering.

As though in tune with exactly what the redhead was thinking, Mello's uncertain contact slipped over and up, gliding over the soft exterior that was clothing to the anchorage point that named itself 'Matt's shoulders'. He impatiently fended off the imposing kiss, battling it mercilessly. In fact, he was nearly at the point of knocking the other over, though at that point he was pretty sure that he'd ease up, for the benefit of Matt's wound.

Matt saved them both the trouble and somehow lowered their bodies to the bed, relief encompassing his somewhat wired body as he found the mattress supporting his weight better than it had before. "Finding anything?" He questioned against Mello's lips, drawing back to suck in air between those oh-so witty words. A ghost of a smirk could just barely be seen on his lips before he silenced Mello with another bruising kiss.

Against the mattress, Mello's hair began to cling to his face, blonde whipping around his features woven with intricate spindles of gold and shadows. His mind once again wrapped around the idea of the contact, and also what it meant for his self-established dominance. Hands didn't know where to go, but his mind guided them expertly. They slid down from the shoulders, finding the contours of his waist. He just needed a place for his fingertips to rest.

Matt's own fingers seemed to be frozen to the flaw, stuck like ice on flesh. His fingers, ice on flesh. He suppressed a shiver as it threatened to expose him in a moment of vulnerability, threatened to put him in Mello's mercy like he wasn't there already. His lips on Mello's made his head rush with fury, with fury that this wasn't enough any longer. He woke his fingers up from their ice age, trailing against Mello's neck to his jaw, down again to his chest, to his spine to pull him close in a strangely needy way.

Mello's pulse had quickened, leaving him to maneuver awkwardly just to draw breath. He realized it was necessary when a purple splotch blossomed in front of his face, the result of his breath catching in his throat and eventually escaping through his nose. His vision immediately corrected itself, allowing him to blink at the other through half-closed eyes. Being pulled closer to Matt, he grunted, having been quite comfortable in his numbness. Even so, he allowed himself to shift to accommodate Matt.

Satisfied that Mello was at least close to him and not going anywhere any time soon, Matt pulled back enough so that his lips were a mere fraction of an inch away from Mello's. "Kissing me done something for you yet?" He questioned, his tone almost teasing, although he didn't mean it completely in jest. He glanced up to the other beyond his goggles, his fingers eerily still now that they'd found some place to be and didn't dare move an inch further.

"Maybe it has," he said. Though he had yearned for the miracle of breath only moments before, he now sounded completely ordinary. What it had done....as for the wonderment he had possessed before....well, he knew for sure that he got that temporary release. That was a given. But had he really gotten what he wanted from it? Of course he enjoyed it, but enjoyment was....fleeting?

Matt seemed to catch on. Chastely, almost gently, he pressed his lips again against Mello's. "What do you want?" He questioned, close enough that he was still breathing Mello's air. "Besides beating Near." He kissed the blonde again, softer. "Or Kira." Just slightly harder. "Or being the best."

Yeah, he could have said the expected. He could have said that he wanted Matt, that he now wanted him as much as the other wanted him. Mello breathed again, but not of necessity. He breathed to inhale the scent of the redhead, suddenly wondering why he had never detected this flavour of the other before....

"I guess," he began, wondering what he should do or say. "I guess I want...." Nope, he couldn't say it, whatever it was.

Hearing his name would be the answer to a prayer, the answer to a fleeting hope that Matt didn't entirely believe in. He just wanted to know what Mello wanted, so he could give him what he wanted. That was how it'd been all along, wasn't it? He'd grown so used to giving everything to Mello that he didn't know how else to make him happy. And Mello happy was what he wanted, wasn't it? "See, you let them control you too much." He stated quietly, not to reprimand the other or demean him, just to show him he had yet to live.

"Matt," he said sharply, chastising these words. "My goal is to beat Near, to catch Kira. To capture L's Kira. I've been working toward that for years. My whole life, actually. I can't just meld into something new. And yet I've opened my whole fucking self up to you." He paused. "I guess you're what I've done for myself, and not just for the sake of proving a point, okay?" Mello closed his eyes, wondering if that would refresh the scene and put it into more favourable terms. No luck. "Happy now?"

He wasn't asking Mello to change, just to look past what he was so caught up in. Although, he supposed that since this was Mello, that was all about the same thing. "Happy," he answered anyways, thinking over Mello's confession long enough to find himself contently pressing his lips against the scarred side of Mello's neck again. he'd never been close enough to take advantage of their lack of distance to do that sort of thing, and now it seemed like he was making up for all the times in the past he hadn't been flush up to Mello.

"Huh," he murmured, as a half-response to both the touch and the spoken reply. Mello found his hands still straddling Matt's hips, fingernails embedded firmly into the cloth there.

To be honest, Mello never changed. You'd know he was inherently different if he locked his emotions completely away, since he was highly susceptible and swayed by them. This confession, really, wasn't anything new.

--

Matt had never particularly liked Mondays.

They were long, tedious, and full of work. Monday morning of January 26th was no different; he and Mello were well-equipped, ready to go. They were standing around inside despite the fact that there were two waiting rental vehicles outside -- Mello's motorbike and Matt's car, red, which made him nostalgic for his souped up one back home. His chest clenched at the possibility that he wouldn't see home, his car, his computers, his bed, his video games, his precious, but terribly old Nintendo 64.... It seemed almost stupid that he was concerned with such trivial matters, but Matt had always been one to avoid the problem.

"Ready, Mello?"

Idly, he twirled his keys around in his fingers, the weight of only one peculilarly unfamiliar. He glanced up to the blonde from behind his orange-tinted goggles, feigning a look of complete confidence, if only to make the day seem like it was going to work out. For Mello's sake.

And, without Matt's usual air of depression, which supremely got on Mello's nerves, he was in a relatively positive mood. You always did seem invincible when you had a good plan and a loaded gun. Well, the plan was as good as it was going to get; not the smartest, but would be very beneficial if it was done right.

"Right," commented the elder one. For the first time in his life, he was carrying a key, too. Well, two keys. That was a definite first, but it was necessary.

Unfortunately, a good plan and a loaded gun was all that Matt felt he had. Not a cheat code that would let him infinitely respawn, just a Mello's word and a weapon. Essentially, they were the same thing. He smirked slightly at the thought.

"Where are we meeting up, again?" He knew when, but he just wanted to make sure that Mello would remember, or something. He had a vague feeling that for one reason or another, he or Mello would spontaneously forget and they wouldn't meet up in Nagano. And then Mello would bitch at him and then they'd haul Takada across the border and go back to his apartment in the States where he would teach Takada how to play Mario Party.

Mello had an idea that Matt knew, but had asked anyway. And maybe he also knew that Mello remembered, since he wouldn't likely forget the details of a plan that was of the utmost importance. Besides, he was the one who designated the meet up point; wouldn't it be better implanted in his brain?

"Nagano," he said, not bothering to say anything more. Matt was likely to find this place, anyway, if he was being sincere and didn't already know where it was.

Matt nodded, thinking of the city and making it there in one piece. This was like a race-- a race with some pretty dangerous obstacles. He could do it. He'd created levels on Urban Ninja: Zombieworld that were harder than this. He would just have to think of this in terms of level sixteen; blowing up the embassy, stealing the resurrection diamond, and making it back to the base before the zombies destroyed the diamond and the last hopes for humanity.

... Or something.

"Well, we should get going." He stated conclusively, his bubble of distraction bursting in the instant he spoke. He felt the need to say something else, but his mind was drawing a complete blank (aside zombie-fighting urban ninjas) on the matter, so he resolved that there was nothing to do except get into the car.

"Sure thing," said Mello airily, exiting the room into the hallway beyond, and then down to the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. He spared no time for pretty much anything, which was maybe a good thing, Matt having no idea what to say anyway. And maybe that was a good thing. Talk would only be distracting, and may even lead to the discussion of things he'd rather not speak of. Namely, the negative possibilities of their mission.

Matt walked with his hands shoved in his pockets, mainly to remind himself of the lighter and the pack of cigarettes sitting in them, promising to be of immediate comfort upon going outside. He decided, though, that he would at least wait to get into the car to keep from aggravating Mello; it was the last thing that he, Mello, or the world needed at the time.

Matt sulked along to the car that he'd rented, red like his own. Damn, he couldn't wait to get back to the States. Because they were definitely going back, without a doubt. ... Yeah, Matt needed a cigarette.

He glanced up at Mello as they neared their vehicles of choice, pursing his lips into a thin line that slowly turned into an inexplicable smile.

"See you later, Mel'."

Mello threw one leg over the bike seat, leather meeting leather with a small muffled noise of satisfaction. Gloved hands, too, reached experimentally toward the handle bars. Well, at least he was comfortable.

"Yeah," he complied, looking to Matt before pulling a helmet over his blonde mane. "See you, Matt." He kicked back the kickstand with a boot-clad foot and turned on the engine, wondering vaguely as he sped off why he hadn't said anything else.

Matt started the car and followed behind, staring at Mello's back as he wove in and out of traffic. Effortlessly, Matt kept track of and followed him, ignoring the other people. He managed the car with one hand as he somehow procured a cigarette and his lighter, holding the flame up to the cigarette balanced between his lips before throwing it off to a side. Sweet release.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Breathe, drive.

He played the record over and over in his head to keep his thoughts from wandering; to keep from thinking of how satisfied he was that Mello had just said his name. It wasn't like Mello hadn't ever said it before... but just the sentiment of names made the situation seem at least honest.

Mihael.

Mail.

-

Mello wasn't thinking as Matt was; it wasn't in his nature to have such thoughts mulling around in his head unless they were provoked, as they had been so many times with Matt. His thoughts were on what he was about to do, where he was going, and more importantly, what this would do to put him a step ahead of Near.

He carried himself confidently even despite his being on the motorcycle, the helmet he wore receiving the butt of the wind that was trying so desperately to catch his hair in its grasp; despite the hungry sentiment of nerves that were currently racing over every inch of his body.

Risky was his business, but this seemed just a little too dangerous. Why? The answer was obvious enough.

Maybe he would have liked the drive to have been longer, but sure enough he arrived at the scene, turning abruptly to avoid being labeled as being followed by the attacker vehicle. He swung around, just enough to catch Matt in the driver's seat of the car, the one that reminded him of the car he had driven to the convenient store not even weeks ago....

-

Beating, breathing, beating, breathing. His heart beat so fervently as they neared the studio that it started to hurt, possibly because he hadn't taken a pain killer in the last forty-eight hours, possibly because he was trying too hard to keep his breathing steady.

Something in the back of his head told him to look back, just once, as the motorcycle gave the tell-tale noise of moving away. He didn't. Instead, he sped up slightly as they reached the NHN studio, his window rolled down, his cigarette clamped between his teeth. A fierce determination was etched onto his features, detachment.

Fire.

The blast, the smoke, the screams.

Get out.

Through the general chaos and the roaring engine of his car, he could hear someone barking out orders. Hal? Possibly. Hopefully. She would ensure that Takada went with Mello. Gritting his teeth, he could taste nicotine on his tongue, raw and unpleasant through the crushed filter. It reminded him that he was somewhat bitter over the small fact that he hadn't even looked back to see Mello go-- but it didn't matter. It wasn't like they weren't going to meet up in Nagano.

There was his cue.

-

Smoke spread over the scene, making it nearly impossible to see, but somehow he found his way. He slowed near Takada and Hal, reaching out his hand to his potential kidnappee. _Get on the damn bike._ But those weren't the words that came out; it was more polite than that, he was sure, and Hal of course allowed her charge to get on the bike. They had arranged this all before, after all.

He sped off again, this time with two hands wrapped firmly--even fearfully--around his waist. Maybe she could feel his heart thudding in its ribcage, hypnotic against the revving of the motorcycle engines, and the shouting.

-

Hadn't Mello told him that there would be many guards? Hadn't common sense warned him that they would swarm after him? Even with both parties telling him what he really should have known better, he wasn't expecting how many cars were speeding after him. "Shit," he muttered to himself, breathing shallow, nervous breaths as he expertly wheeled the car around a corner. He glanced up to his rear view mirror-- lost them.

Think fast.

Suddenly, speeding around the corner and the wrong way onto the lanes came a multitude of cars. Screeching. Matt swerved to avoid a high-speed, head-on collision. "Damn it, how many guards does Takada have?" He scowled at his own incompetence, pulling out his smokescreen gun again while mumbling under his breath.

Think faster.

When he looked up, he was surrounded by at least twelve cars. "... Fuck."

-

Mello, too, was being pursued, though he hadn't expected it as much as he had the possibility of Matt being chased. But this wasn't an impossible problem....he swerved and ditched the two following him, careening down an alley. This being, he cuffed Takada to the bike, earning a muffled expression of disbelief from her.

He chose to ignore it.

Meanwhile, he pressed onward, onward to the place where he would be getting into his second vehicle today. It wasn't parked too close, in hopes of being undetected, but it also wasn't far enough away that it would take him an outrageously long time to get there. Time was of the essence.

Instead of slowing down, he sped up when he got to his destination, changing into inconspicuous dress and setting Takada free only to murmur some fierce instructions to her. Things were going as planned....there was no way he could lose now, unless someone caught up to him, or Takada had some means to get into contact with Kira even now. That, however, was of little consequence.

He slammed the door to the back of the truck and clambered into the front. The keys turned easily in the ignition.

Likewise, his stomach churned.

-

Matt could feel an uncomfortable sensation growing in his stomach, welling in his chest, crawling up his throat. He wasn't going to make it. There was no fucking way. But he had to at least try-- he had to meet Mello in Nagano. They had to beat Kira, they had to win out on Near. They had to go back to the States. Mello needed to buy more chocolate. They... they had to have a rematch back in the arcade. He had to cook another dinner.

"Come on. Since when are the Japanese allowed to carry such big guns?" He smirked as he got out of the car, leaning nonchalantly on the door with his gun still in hand. His cigarette tasted vile. "Hey, I'm connected to Takada's kidnapper," he started to reason, playing the best card he had. He didn't think they would listen-- but...

God, he hoped to death this was fucking worth it.

"I've got answers. You aren't going to--"

Mello's shot, throbbing in his chest was nothing but a nip against gunshots fired with malice.

-

Mello was surprised at how well he could drive when he wasn't even aware that he was doing it. His mind couldn't even register the road in front of him, and his hands could have been shaking if not for the fact that he felt so numb. Sure, he was positive, positive that things were going to go well. There was no way, not after all he had put into this scheme, that they weren't going to pull it off well. They had calculated it to its fullest. Goddamnit, why was his heart beating so quickly?

To monitor what had happened, what the world thought of the kidnapping, Mello switched on the Japanese news on the television that was programmed into the car.

-

Even with his chest growing hot with pain, he didn't think it could end this way. No, they were supposed to meet in Nagano, they were supposed to be boarding a plane that evening. Their round-trip tickets were waiting for them. Looked like he was going somewhere else.

The gunshot rounds ceased. Silence overtook the air, but in his ears, Matt's feeble heart pounded. A will to live. He smiled just ever so faintly, his cigarette dropping from his lips in that moment. Chopper blades thundered overhead, the murmur of pedestrians sounded like slowly crashing waves. Most poignantly, though, he heard silence.

Peace.

Mello didn't need him there, he could do this alone. Mello could succeed without him; take the spot of number one without owing it to anyone else. Whatever support Mello needed, he could find it in their friendship. Every heated kiss on his lips, every cigarette burn on the carpet. And maybe they wouldn't meet up in Nagano. Maybe they wouldn't go back to the States. Maybe his heart was fighting against the fire of bullets in his chest, but something told it to quiet down. It was okay, everything was okay. Calm. Let Matt think.

Maybe his round-trip ticket wouldn't be of use.

At least, not back across the ocean.

-

Turning on the television proved to be a stupid thing to do, as the first thing Mello saw when he switched it on was that same familiar car, only this time, instead of nostalgia, it incited something different….

Because by this scene, by the words that he could only catch glimpses of, by the sickening paint of crimson that had splashed itself across the street, he could tell what was going to happen next.

Matt wouldn't be coming back with him to the United States.

That numbness, instead of increasing, palliating the sentiments that he had suddenly developed from the time he had left Wammy's up until this moment, ceased to exist, leaving him tumbling into reality, something he had been hiding from in his 'all or nothing' routine for so long.

"I'm sorry Matt, I got you killed…."

It was ironic how these were the only words he managed to speak, eyes planted firmly on the road now. It was funny how eventually he stopped the car where he couldn't be found, just to seek a pause. Was there a point in going to Nagano anymore?

The airport, of course, that was where he needed to be….but, it would feel odd with one extra ticket.

His heart began to thud faster, faster, and faster, and for a moment, Mello only thought that this was because of what had happened, a physical side effect. Soon, however, it turned to pain, and he realized exactly what it was.

So this was how it was going to be. The blonde leaned painfully over the steering wheel, trying to keep himself aloft, but failing miserably, as he had failed all those years before. As he had failed in beating Near, the thing he raved about for so long.

Well, at least now he wouldn't have to get on the plane with one extra ticket. _Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump…. _

He wondered what Hell would be like.

Maybe not too bad.

After all, Matt would be there.

**owari.**

--

**A/N:** And so it ends. You have no idea how depressed Mahri and I were (and still are) when this came to a close. I hope you enjoyed it as much as we did.

"_We can't change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand." –Randy Pausch_


End file.
